


Dragons and Roses, Stars and Wolves

by Queen_Lyanna



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arthur Dayne Lives, Ashara Dayne Lives, Dragon Eggs, Elia Martell Deserved Better, F/F, F/M, Jon Snow Has Dragons, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Stark Lives, M/M, Magic cuz it’s fantasy so let’s have fun, Margaery/Jon and Arthur/Lyanna are final though, Marjon, Not easy on Ned Stark either, Not for fans of Catelyn Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Romance and Politics, Some Pairings not Finalized, Soulbonds, Tags to be added, direwolves, soulmarks AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 82,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21998455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Lyanna/pseuds/Queen_Lyanna
Summary: Ned Stark just wants to live with his family, in peace and never be dragged into southron affairs or their game of thrones ever again. He’s torn between his family by blood and his family by choice.Lyanna Stark is a She Wolf that wants her son back and is baying for the blood of all those who hurt her family, her pack. She wants her loved ones safe and to never again hear of their slaughter, powerless to aid them.Jon Snow wants to wash away the stain he puts on his honorable lord father’s cloak and to know the love of a mother. He can only do one of those things though, so he seizes the chance when after a run in with the Lady Catelyn and the announcement of the Kings arrival, his father gives him permission to go to the Wall.Margaery Tyrell was raised to be queen. To her and her family’s eyes, it looks like the gods have a different plan when she receives a soul mark binding her to a northern bastard. She and her grandmother wonder which is worse, the cruel golden prince, or the bastard barbarian that worships trees?Dragons and Roses, Stars and Wolves, all tangled together in the gods’ web.
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Viserys Targaryen, Arthur Dayne/Lyanna Stark, Arya Stark/Edric Dayne, Bonifer Hasty/Rhaella Targaryen, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Robert Baratheon, Cersei Lannister/Tygett Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen/Harrold Hardyng, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell, Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nymeria Sand/Daenerys Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)/Willas Tyrell, Robert Baratheon/All of the Whores, Sansa Stark/Domeric Bolton, Shireen Baratheon/Rickon Stark
Comments: 631
Kudos: 834
Collections: Jon Snow & Margaery Tyrell





	1. The She Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this. This is my first time posting on any site and my first fic at all. This chapter is likely shorter than future ones will be. I’m hoping to update once a week. All comments welcome, please keep criticism constructive. Thank you for giving my story a shot. 
> 
> Also, please read the tags. If any of those upset you, do NOT read this story. It’ll just piss you off and who needs that?
> 
> Just a few things, remember, this chapter is from Lyanna’s POV. And she’s rightfully furious right now. So take her words against Ned with a grain of salt. Jon loves Ned and his siblings and despite his faults, Ned loves him too. Lyanna doesn’t know Ned’s thoughts and we’ll get his POV soon to see what’s going on his mind. Characters have bias and aren’t always reliable. This story won’t have perfect, do no wrong, idealized version of Ned Stark. But he also won’t be shit on and dragged mercilessly.
> 
> As for pairings, a few are set in stone. There are some I’m uncertain of or could be swayed on, namely Daenerys and Rhaenys. Let me know what you think and I’ll take it into consideration for every pairing except Jon/Margaery and Lyanna/Arthur.
> 
> This was edited because for some reason having the last two paragraphs as the end note, put it on the following chapters as well.

Lyanna felt like being sick. She’d never felt such sorrow, rage, and fear all at the same time. Sorrow that her boy, the only piece of Rhaegar left in this world- aside from the young woman next to her, holding her hand and looking like she was battling the same emotions as herself- was at the Wall, about to vow his life away. She didn’t understand. She knew that she and Ned had issues, she knew that her boy was not treated as he should be, that he was treated as no child should be, but she’d still thought he loved Jon. Yet it appeared he loved his whoremongering stag friend more than his own family. The Honourable Ned Stark had tricked them all. It was quite the shock.

“Is Arthur certain? What will be done?” she couldn’t bear to think of her boy at the wall, alone with rapists and thieves.

Oswell responded quickly, “He’s certain, I’m certain, that’s what everyone around Winterfell was saying. Ned Stark is readying to welcome Robert and resigned to becoming his Hand, preparing to leave for King’s Landing, likely taking his younger children with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he betroths Sansa to that golden shit of a prince, no doubt Baratheon still dreams of tying your houses in marriage. The a week after the raven arrived, Jaehaerys left for the Wall.”

She knew she never should have let her brother take her son. But what was she to do? She was half dead after the birth and Ned had sworn he’d take good care of him and raise him in Winterfell as she had been. In exchange he would allow her, Rhaenys, Oswell and Arthur to live in Greywater Watch. Rhaella, Viserys, Daenerys and Gerold Hightower had had to flee to Essos. Ned said they couldn’t hide them, even in the swamps of the Neck. Not with their bright silver hair. Not when Robert knew that those Targaryens yet lived. It was pure luck and good planning by Rhaella and Varys that they’d been able to clear out the treasury. With that money, they’d be safe. At least that was their hope. Lyanna never would’ve allowed him to take Jae but Ned had agreed to allow Arthur to come with Jae to Winterfell, under the guise of being ‘Jon Snow’s’ uncle. It was obvious why Ned wanted her son. He wasn’t worried about Jae’s well-being, he was worried about Robert Baratheon and wanted to ensure Jaehaerys wouldn’t take back his rightful throne. That he wouldn’t be raised to take it back. Arthur had told her how her son was treated, how he was denied the lessons Ned’s trueborn son received. She’d been told how the fish and her septa denigrated him. She couldn’t believe Ned had allowed it, but when Lyanna and Arthur had complained he’d said, “It’s necessary. It wouldn’t look right if my lady wife doted on my bastard.” Which was all well and true, but she didn’t need to dote on him. She just needed to leave him alone, not belittle him, nor try to turn his cousins against their supposed bastard brother. Ned could’ve put an end to it, he was the lord, with how that fish was raised she would obey. At least he hadn’t told her the truth about ‘Jon Snow’. Catelyn would cut off her boy’s head herself and send it to Robert.

Everything had gone wrong, right when it seemed to be finally going just right. The children had received direwolves and Lyanna had taken it as a sign from the gods. Then it’d all gone to shit. Jon Arryn died and the Whoremonger King was coming with his poisonous golden queen, and Ned had thought it best if Arthur wasn’t there to antagonize him. Ned had sent him back to Greywater for the duration of the Baratheon visit, Arthur couldn’t have known that was just an excusea to get Jae to the Wall without Arthur’s interference.. By the time Arthur had turned back to Winterfell -for reasons Lyanna didn’t know and was wholly grateful for- a few days after he’d departed, Ned’s “brother” was about to arrive and her son was gone.

Arthur had immediately sent Oswell back to inform them and set off after Jaehaerys. She just hoped he’d be in time. That he’d stop him before he could swear himself to the Watch. There were only two ways out of the oath: death and soulmark, and there hadn’t been an instance of soulmarks since the Conciliator and the Good Queen. Her baby brother had wanted to go to the Wall as well, when Ned had returned to Winterfell with his ‘bastard’ and her bones. Arthur had saved him from that fate, told him the truth and Benjen had gone to White Harbor to squire for a Manderly. He was now a man grown, with a wife and child and another on the way. Lyanna had convinced Ned to ask three boons from Robert, he deserved them, after all, for his service in the War of the Usurper. So Ned had asked for and been granted a pardon for Arthur, allowing him to accompany Jae to Winterfell, she had wanted a five year pause on taxes from the North but with the state the treasury was in, that wasn't possible. Instead Ned had gotten the approval to rebuild Moat Cailin with 15% of the North's crown taxes for a period of ten years. The final boon was the right to build thirty ships for a new Northern Fleet, ostensibly due to fear of the Ironborn getting bolder. Though, Lyanna supposed that wasn’t actually a cover for Ned, he really only wanted those things to defend against the Ironborn, not to prepare the North for war in case Jae was found out and needed to be protected. She hoped she was being unfair and was wrong about all of it, but she was running low on hope.

Lyanna looked out the window of the sitting room, to the Weirdwood beyond. She turned away, quickly, it seemed her gods had abandoned her. She’d go to pray later, beg them to protect her family, her son. Right now she needed to be with those she loves and who loved her in turn. Jyanna had just pressed a mug of tea into her hand and Lyanna had barely noticed. She looked up in time to see Howland walk over to squeeze her shoulder in comfort. He only wanted what was best for Jae too. Everyone in this room did. Ashara sat on the couch, Alaric’s head in her lap, stroking his dark brown hair. He was six and ten now, a man grown, but even men needed comfort. She knew tomorrow he'd deny it ever happened. He was usually the one trying to take care of and protect the others. Especially his mother. Alaric looked similar to Jae, if you ignored his build, eyes and straight hair. Both had the long faces of the Starks and both had the beauty of their other houses in spades. Both the Daynes and Targaryens were known for such. Mix it with the wildness of the North and they were even more handsome than Rhaegar. Something Arthur would’ve teased him about mercilessly.

Oswell was trying to cheer up Rhaenys with his dark wit but Rhaenys looked like she didn’t even know he was there. She just stared straight ahead, rubbing Balerion. The fierce cat eventually hissed at Oz and he ran away with his tail between his legs, muttering about demon cats and what a nice pair of slippers they’d make. As if that cat would ever let Oz or anyone not Rhaenys catch him. She’d never admit it but that black furball scared her as well, and though Oswell was joking, she wasn’t sure he was actually wrong about the demon bit. 

Jyanna and Howland must’ve left the room, she hadn’t even noticed. Had no idea how long it’d been since they were here, except that her tea was no longer piping hot but nicely warm. She took a sip, just to go through the motions and was surprised by how good it tasted. The crannogmen were known for their herbs and medicines, as well as they were for their poisons and their magic of the earth. She wouldn’t be surprised if this tea was supposed to help her in some way, mayhap calm her down? She wished she could sleep. It would make the time from now until she knew what had happened to by quicker. It seemed better than just sitting in the worthless pain and regret.

She’d failed Rhaegar, he’d loved all his children fiercely yet all their plans to protect them had failed and only two remained and sweet, brilliant Elia was lost as well. Lyanna herself had survived by the skin of her teeth and only because Ashara disregarded Rhaegar’s order and sent Starfall’s maester to the Tower of Joy. Rhaella would’ve died too if not for the healer Varys sent with her or Lucerys Velaryon smartly abandoning the fleet to an upcoming storm and moving Rhaella, Viserys and the treasury to Starfall. That’s where they made their plans before dividing the treasure and going their separate ways. 

She still didn’t know how all of their planning had crashed into dust. She had suspicions but no proof. She only knew that their letters to her father and brothers had never arrived. That someone had either made up seeing her be kidnapped or knew the truth and lied to Brandon anyway. She knew their plot to get Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys out went up in smoke. Forcing Elia to stay behind, forced to part with her daughter. It was either all of them or only Rhaenys. Aerys kept a close eye on Aegon and despite him disliking Elia, Aegon looked like a ‘true dragon’ and was prized. Elia knew Aegon was at least safe from Aerys, Rhaenys was not, she was too Dornish in Aerys’ eyes, a weak halfbreed. None of them had thought to worry much about enemies without.

They had known Ned would never countenance the killing of an innocent woman and her babes. If only he had gotten there first. Lyanna may be angry at Ned right now, but she had known he’d not stand for that. She was right, Ned was furious and disgusted. But not enough to stop loving Robert and seeing him as a brother. Baratheon had smiled and called his nephew’s brother, and who they thought was his sister, ‘dragonspawn’. Robert and Jon Arryn had cared not a whit that Elia, kind Elia, was raped by a monster that had her infant son’s blood and brains on his hands, before cleaving her almost in two. If they had disapproved at all they would’ve at least killed the Mountain and Lorch, even smarter would have been to give them to Prince Doran. Tywin Lannister would have handed them over easily in return for his daughter as queen. Their non action was tacit consent. Who could love men that would do such a thing?

Worst of all, she’d failed her son. If she ever saw him again, would he scorn her? Could she ever make up for the love and care he’d lacked growing up, for letting him be treated in such a way that he thought a brotherhood of rapists and thieves was his only escape? How could he, when Lyanna couldn’t forgive herself? Lyanna would prefer to suffer his hate, than never see him again as he froze on the Wall. 

She knew Rhaenys blamed her, if only in part, for her not being able to grow up beside the only brother left to her. Even worse than that is what Rhaella would do. Rhaella was polite to Lyanna and loved and supported Jae, even from so far away, but she resented Lyanna for her part in the downfall of House Targaryen. Lyanna supposed it was easier to resent her gooddaughter than her dead firstborn. Something Lyanna couldn’t begrudge her for, she’d likely be the same. Rhaella would never forgive her for losing Rhaegar’s only remaining son, as well as their best hope for retaking the throne. 

Viserys could become their king, he’d have to if Jae had taken the black. The problem lay in his temperament. Viserys was too entitled, too arrogant. He at least loves his family, though he could do without me, i’m sure, but at least he didn’t transfer his dislike of her onto his nephew. Rhaella had seen to that. Lyanna was grateful she had survived for many reasons, reigning in Viserys and teaching him to be an asset to their family was only one of them. Viserys had high hopes and studied often so he could benefit them the most. Lyanna was sure he’d be in a rage when he learned of this. He’d want to immediately start taking heads. He had a touch of his father’s temper, but luckily not the madness.

Lyanna’s eyes had finally started to droop. That sweet smelling tea had done what Jyanna had hoped it would. Lyanna would need to thank her profusely. 

Just when Lyanna was about to stand and go find her bed, Rhaenys finally spoke up, “All we can do is wait and pray, Mother Lyanna.” Then she walked over and grabbed Lyanna’s hand, dropping her cat to the floor, her eyes were fierce, and her face set in determination. “And all those that betrayed us will pay, Winter is Coming, with Fire and Blood. We will remain Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.”

Lyanna couldn’t muster a shred of sympathy that those words, that threat, was levelled at the only big brother remaining to her. If he stood in their way or betrayed them again she’d send him to the Wall like he’d done to her son. If he fought against them, his only recourse would be death. Lyanna had her pack, her son, her step daughter, her goodmother and Rhaegar’s siblings, Arthur, Ashara and her son, Alaric, the only piece of her wild wolf brother left to her, the Reeds, Oz and Gerold and the only true brother remaining to her, Benjen. She’d never hurt her nieces and nephews, but their mother and her house would have no mercy and unless their father rejoined his actual family, neither would he.


	2. The Sword of the Morning/The Quiet Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur hurries to Jaehaerys, learns the best news he’s had in almost two decades, has to tell a hard truth.
> 
> Ned has his plans ruined, a conversation with the king and a surprise in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. They were originally going to be separate but Arthur’s was short and I wanted to get Ned in. 
> 
> Also, remember. Characters have their own biases, not everything they think or say is fact. It’s the world as they see it. Please keep that in mind.

The Sword of the Morning

Arthur Dayne was exhausted and terrified, filled with fury. He had heard the news from Oswell, after he’d turned back a few days ride from Winterfell due to an unignorable feeling and a dream of Rhaegar. Ever since then he’d ridden with utmost haste, nearly killing his horse. His anger and despair felt like a living, breathing force inside of him. He couldn’t understand it, or mayhap he didn’t want to. How could Ned Stark send his sister’s son, the nephew he’d raised as his own, to a glorified penal colony? Arthur was certain the Lord of Winterfell had convinced himself he was doing it for Jon’s safety. To get him away before Baratheon looked upon him and had a chance to see Rhaegar in him. To protect him from those who would kill Jae, under the naive belief that the vows and sanctity of the Watch would stop assassins if the truth were discovered. Arthur was also certain that while those reasons were a part of it, so was Ned's desire to protect the man he chose as his brother, to keep the throne the Usurper stole in his hands. Regardless that the oaf was running the realm into the ground and that the smallfolk were suffering and loyalist houses simmering, just one misstep from boiling over into violence.

It was true Ned Stark had raised Jae along with his trueborn children. It was also true that he’d practically ripped him from his mother, Stark’s own sister, so that he couldn’t be used to lead a restoration of House Targaryen. Ned also seemed to think Starks should be raised in Winterfell, though he had said nothing about Alaric, never even visiting his elder brother’s son. He had raised his trueborn nephew, the heir to the Iron Throne, as a bastard. Had allowed his wife to neglect him, though at least Arthur had never seen her touch him. Let her try to turn his ‘siblings’ against Jae, all without a word of protest. Luckily, she'd only succeeded in turning Sansa against him, the others loved their ‘brother’ fiercely. That girl was all Tully and the naivety and ignorance she displayed and her parents encouraged, would surely be her downfall one day. Arthur hoped he was wrong, Sansa didn't deserve to suffer for other people's failings. 

These mistakes and issues were not the only of Ned’s, Lyanna had worried over some of his choices as Warden of the North. No, while these things were seen as betrayals to those who loved Jaehaerys, his other blunders were arguably more dangerous and bred discontent throughout the region.

All this and more swirled through Arthur’s mind as he raced to the wall. Thinking of these things was much better for his sanity than the thought of being too late.

Another hour of riding up the Kingsroad, through the ancient trees Lyanna had spoken about at the Tower of Joy, pride and love shining in her silver eyes. He was getting close to the wall now, a day’s ride out and he swore he could see it reflecting in the moonlight, when off into the trees he caught glimpse of a fire. 

Fully pulled out of his thoughts, body tensing in alertness, he finally heard the sounds of chatter he’d missed before. ‘ _ Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ _ he thought, he was the Sword of the Morning, a Kingsguard. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted, regardless the reason. 

He put his hand on the pommel of his sword, directing his horse slowly into the woods. He called out, to make sure they didn’t mistake him for a vagabond, “Hello friends, do you mind if I share your fire?”

The men quickly turned to him, dressed in grey and white, the Stark direwolf proudly on their tunics. They must be the escort returning from dropping Jae off at the Wall. At least, that’s what he thought before one voice rose above the others.

“Uncle Arthur?” came his King’s incredulous voice. “What are you doing here?”

“J-Jon? I was coming to find you, to try to stop you from throwing your life away. I never expected to catch you before you even arrived. Did you encounter trouble on the road?” 

Jaehaerys looked troubled, though relieved to see his favorite ‘uncle’. “Yes, well about that. Come, we need to speak.” 

They excused themselves before walking deeper into the woods. Jae looked around, obviously nervous and Arthur couldn’t imagine what had happened to make him so.

“We arrived at the Wall the day before yesterday. While training with the Master-at-Arms I was knocked to the ground by a burning, searing pain on my chest. It felt like I was dying, like I was being reborn. I was carried to the maester, luckily he was the only one that stayed. I can’t imagine if anyone but him had seen it. Especially with the King so close by.”

Now Arthur was confused, none of this made any sense, and now Jae was standing there, his dark violet eyes, so like Rhaegar’s beseeching him for help. “I don’t understand. Are you hurt? And what does an injury have to do with Baratheon?”

That was when he started removing his shirt. Arthur stood, perplexed. Until he saw Jaehaerys chest and then he understood. For bright and bold, right over his heart was a red dragon, a white wolf stood in front of it and both were surrounded by a circle of golden roses, with bright green thorns. 

He almost cried in relief. He wanted to get on his knees and thank the gods but a quick groan from Lyanna’s son snapped him out of it.

“Now, can you please explain to me why there’s a red dragon on my chest? Have I been soulbound to a Targaryen? I didn’t think there were any left. This is why I had to leave the watch. A marked man can’t join, I can’t be separated from whoever this Targaryen girl is. The wolf I understand, but the roses?”

The boy was rambling, seemed he’d been holding this in and now that he’d finally spoken of it, the dam and broken entirely. 

Arthur had hoped Lyanna would be the one to tell him. Had hoped it would happen years ago. But there was nothing for it.

“Jon, I think it’s finally time I told you about your mother...and your father.”

  
  


The Quiet Wolf

The snow was falling slowly, coating the ground like sugar, shining in the sun like diamonds. 

For Ned, summer snows were just one thing that he loved most about the North. He’d been all over the Seven Kingdoms, and the North was by far the most beautiful. The air seemed thick with magic, the gods always present in their Weirwoods. The mists swirling through the green trees never failed at filling him with awe for his home. He hadn’t wanted to leave it now, hadn’t wished to go south, with its politics and treachery. Truly, the only kingdom he’d actually wished to visit was the Riverlands, and that was really about the cursed tourney, not travel. 

He didn’t know what to feel, now that he’d get his wish and not have to leave the North again, at least not for a few moons more. The Old Gods were not kindly, though they weren’t cruel either, not without reason. But they seemed to enjoy nothing more than playing with mortals who dared wish for what they didn’t have.

Ned had received the letter that informed him of the complete collapse of all his plans, all his dreams of protecting Robert and Jon. Catelyn was hysterical in it. Ranting about his bastard and Tyrells. About how surely they’d use Jon to gain Winterfell. How Robb should be the one marrying into the second richest family in the realm, how it wasn’t right that the Rose of Highgarden had bonded with the boy. She’d gotten a letter from the Tyrells, informing them that they’d be headed to Winterfell. That based on the girl’s mark they believed her soulmark to be the Lord of Wintfell’s second son. Catelyn had rushed to check Bran over, only then remembering that his second son was Jon. 

His wife was worried about the wrong nephew in any case. It hurt to even think about the boy. It was hard to resent Brandon now that he was dead, but his brother had known how he felt about Ashara and gone after her anyway.

Even worse Brandon had  _ married  _ her, broken his betrothal to the Tully’s. Apparently, he’d been on his way to break the news to them when someone told him Rhaegar had stolen Lyanna. Ned didn’t know what he’d been thinking, that could’ve easily ignited it’s own war.

Luckily Ashara wanted nothing to do with Winterfell. Even if the minute after his birth the babe was the rightful lord of it and the North. She’d wanted to stay with Lyanna, was worried it would put a target on them. She had doubted Robert would let a half Dayne child rule the North, so had named him a Dayne in truth and washed her hands of it,

Regardless of what Ashara said, Ned still felt the boys claim hanging like a sword over his neck. After what he’d done, he didn’t know what Lyanna would do with all her knowledge. She had already cost him so much, would she cost him and his children Winterfell too?

Ned ducked back into his tent. He didn’t know how to deal with this. Were the gods punishing him? He’d only tried to do right. He had known Lyanna, the Targaryens and the Daynes would eventually want vengeance. They could easily have raised his nephew, filling him with hate for Robert, convincing him the throne was his by rights. But it wasn’t anymore, it was Robert’s. The brother he chose and knew better even than his true siblings. Robert sat the throne by right of conquest and the Targaryens had lost all claim to it. 

_ ‘That’s not true,’  _ a voice in his mind whispered. A voice he’d ignored for six and ten years. It sounded like Lyanna, it sounded like Brandon, sometimes it even sounded like his Lord Father. Ned knew this was true. Robert had claimed the throne as the grandson of Rhaelle Targaryen. Otherwise there likely would’ve been a great council. Who had the right to the throne was debatable. And who was to say Jaehaerys wouldn’t take it back by conquest?

Perhaps this could be salvaged. Perhaps Jaehaerys could remain Jon Snow. Though, he’d be Jon Stark now, all soulmarked are trueborn in the eyes of the gods. That was part of why Catelyn was so angry, in her mind all her fears were being realized _. _ Ned knew that was a fool’s dream though, Lyanna would never let that happen. No order would take him now, there was nowhere he could send Jon to protect both he and Robert. He had become many things, but he’d never become a kinslayer, and he truly wanted Jon to live and be happy. He loved his nephew. He just hadn’t fought a war that deposed the Targaryens, the family that murdered his father and brother, to turn around a decade and a half later and put the Mad King’s grandson on the throne his best friend now sat. The son of the man who’d bewitched his little sister, leading to Ned’s world imploding.

No. No, he couldn’t allow that to happen. But he couldn’t stop it without putting his entire family’s head on the block alongside his own. He could only return to Winterfell, get to Jon before the others could convince him to go for the throne. He would make Jon see reason. See why remaining Ned’s son was the best for everyone and hope everyone would respect the boy’s wishes.

He could rebuild Queenscrown for them, or even Sea Dragon Pointe. Hopefully that’d be enough to appease the Roses. He didn’t have much more to offer, with Benjen being Lord of Moat Cailin.

That decided he strode out of his tent to go find Robert and inform him of the news. A bit concerned over how he would take it. He found him sitting at a table, drinking and feasting for the afternoon meal. Oddly, from what Ned had observed, even Cersei and Joffrey were with him. Having seen more of his friend’s son had worried Ned greatly, he was not the type of husband his Sansa deserved.

“Your Grace-“

“Oh enough of that Ned! I’ve told you before, call me Robert! Someone needs to, I hear it so rarely I’m like to forget it!”

“Yes, of course Robert, my apologies.”

Robert interrupted him again, “Oh come off it, what is it you need? You look like you haven’t taken a shit in a sennight!”

Cersei looked away, disgust evident on her face.

“I received a raven from Catelyn. It appears my son, Jon Snow has been soulmarked.”

“Oh, the Dayne bastard you sent off to the wall? Would that his dragon loving uncle had followed him. Well, who’s his soulmarked?”

Cersei and Joffrey both looked on with interest, sneers evident on their faces that a bastard had been gifted the first soulmark in almost two hundred and fifty years.

“The Tyrells sent a raven to my wife, they should already be on their way to Winterfell. Their daughter Margaery received the mark.”

Robert let out a booming laugh, his face turning red and his eyes watering. He slapped his leg and smiled at Ned. “Ah Ned, I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in ages. That’s what those loyalist roses get. They dared besiege Storm’s End and now they’re precious daughter is bound to a northern bastard? They tried to get us to marry the girl to Joffrey but I’d sooner chop off my dick than marry my heir to those golden roses.”

Cersei spoke up then, “Surely, there must be a mistake. Why would the gods bind a highborn girl to a northern bastard?”

“Who cares?! It’s done, and as you well know, no marked are bastards,” Robert said dismissively, despite having said similar moments before. He turned to Ned, “I’m guessing this means you’ll be leaving us?”

“Aye Robert, a soulmark is no small thing. I also can’t leave Cat alone to prepare the wedding. Jon is not her son.”  _ He’s not mine, either,  _ he tamped down on that thought. It wouldn’t do to think of that here.

“Well, alright then Ned. I’ll give you two, three moons to settle up here. Then I want you to hurry your arse to Kingslanding. I’ll let Stannis sit in for you. Make sure you’re back before he kicks all the whores out of the city.”

“With your leave, Your Graces, I’ll go inform my daughters and ready them for the journey.”

Cersei’s sickly sweet voice chimed like a bell, “Surely, you’ll not separate the little dove from her betrothed? We will take good care of her and it won’t be long in any case.”

Ned felt his stomach drop and the blood rush to his face in anger, like hell would he leave his daughter alone here on the road, alone in the city where too many Starks have been lost.

Thankfully, Robert intervened before Ned could lose his composure.

“Oh come off it, woman. They’ll be fine being apart for a few moons. Would that I could be separated from you,” groused the king. “Carry on then, come see me before you set out. I’ll sorely miss you but I’ll not keep you from your son’s wedding.”

Cersei looked like she wanted to say more, instead settling to get up and walk away in a swirl of skirts. The prince following behind with one last sneer.

Ned thanked Robert, assured him he’d find him before he left and set off to find his daughters. Arya would be delighted. Happy for her favorite brother and to return home. Sansa would be the opposite. How did his daughters end up so different? 

….

Days later the Lord of Winterfell returned home. Only, Jon was not there. Just a letter, written in Arthur’s hand, brought by Oswell if he had his guess, stating he had taken Jon to Moat Cailin, to escort Jon’s bride and her family north. 

_ Shit. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. I’m sorry about the cliffhangers (partly). Jon is up next and you’ll learn about his ordeal, and him learning the truth before heading to Moat Cailin, where many people are waiting to meet him.
> 
> Also, writing dialogue is HARD, why did no one inform me of this?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Jon should be up in a week at the very latest. Depends on how my children are. It seems one is sick and then the other, rotating for infinity. Good times.


	3. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns some truths, meets family and potentially finds his home.

Arthur spun a tale similar and unlike any he had ever heard before. Maidens turning into knights to restore a lord's honor. A prince falling in love with a She-Wolf, and being loved in turn. A wolf howling at the sun, and the sun shining all the brighter for it, another wolf with naught but stars in his eyes. And of a stag that dared think he could own a wolf. 

At the center of it all was the one word repeating in Jon’s mind and through his body like his life's blood. 

_Mother, mother, mother. Mother, mother, mother._ Around and through, So fast he felt his chest would burst. He couldn't _breathe_ , it felt like he was coming apart, like he no longer fit in his skin. His mother! His mother was _alive._

He collapsed to his knees, sharp pain biting into him from the rocks and twigs scattered along the forest floor. It barely even registered. He could only feel the pressure in his chest, the jittery itch under his skin. 

Then he felt it. Soft, warm, fur rubbing against him. He looked up, and straight into Ghost's red eyes and was finally able to take a breath that didn’t feel like it was being sucked in through a reed.

"My mother is alive boy, she's alive," Jon cried and as soon as the words left his mouth, the other truth he'd learned ripped right through him. 

_My mother is alive… and my father is dead._

Jon buried his face in Ghost's fur, crying even harder than the first and only time he'd ever addressed Lady Catelyn as mother. 

He started as he felt a hand clasp his shoulder, before being pulled into a bone crushing hug by his Uncle Arthur. _Who is not actually my uncle._

As if Arthur had heard his thoughts, he whispered fiercely into his ear, " I may not be your uncle by blood, but I'm your uncle in truth regardless. Your father was my best friend, your mother is incredibly dear to me, and my sister, though not your mother _is_ your aunt by marriage. You're family, J."

Arthur paused looking into Jon's eyes as if to make sure he was believed, before continuing on. "I can't imagine how this must feel-"

Jon jerked away from him, standing with a snarl. "You're right. You can't imagine. I've been lied to by the people I trusted and loved most, my entire life. Aye, I gained a mother today but I also lost **two** fathers and five siblings." 

He paused for a moment, realized his mistake, "No, not just five siblings, SEVEN. I lost seven siblings today! And the man that's been my father for as long as I can remember, his best friend, his _best friend_ rewarded those who killed them and my real stepmother. 

Then there's _you_. You lied to me, you saw how desperately I wanted a mother and you let me believe mine had killed herself. That I wasn't enough to live for.

Though, I guess the not being enough is true. Why does my mother hate me so much that she gave me to her brother, a man that's told me countless shining stories of the man that killed my father. Fath- _Lord Stark,_ he--Did she know how I was treated? Am I so horrible that even as a babe I deserved to suffer?"

"That's enough!" Arthur demanded firmly but gently, pulling Jon back to him.

"I'm sorry, I am but you must be quiet. No one can know or all that we've done is wasted and many lives will be lost. Do you understand?"

Jon glared but nodded, slightly ashamed. He knew that, knew no one could know. It was why he had been so relieved that only the maester had been in the room with him at Castle Black after he collapsed. 

The maester was blind but Jon had been so shocked when he'd seen the mark, he blurted it out, told him there was a picture on his chest of a red dragon, a white wolf, golden roses with thorns and a white tower with a black base. The kind old man had had a look of pure astonishment on his face when Jon finally snapped his mouth shut.

He had asked Jon many questions about his age, his family, about Winterfell. Jon hadn't thought anything of it. By the time he was done asking his questions all that lingered was a sweet sort of awareness, right over his heart. 

The maester told him that was normal with Soulmarks. That the gods must have great plans for him. Told him he shouldn't worry if he feels anything else abnormal, though assured him there likely wouldn't be pain again. 

He had then told Jon that he used to be Aemon Targaryen, brother of Aegon the Fifth. That with that Soulmark on his chest, Jon was his family as well. 

He hadn't understood what had happened next until now. He had asked Jon if he could feel his face, in order to "see" him. Maester Aemon's eyes almost immediately welled with tears. He'd hugged Jon to him and told him, "A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing." Jon had assumed he meant whatever Targaryen he was bound to, not that he was the Targaryen himself.

Before he'd left, the maester had asked to see him one more time. He'd given him a long thin package,and a few books on soulmarks. The maester had told him to protect it well, but only open the package once he'd met his Targaryen marked. That had been clever wording. It took a moment to shake off the thought. Later. Now was not the time and it was something to look forward to at the end of all this. 

Jon took another calming breath and thought about what to ask Arthur next.

“Why did my mother give me to her brother?”

Arthur practically growled his answer, “She didn’t give you to anyone. Your uncle gave her an impossible choice. It was either let him take you and raise you in Winterfell or have nowhere to live and hide. Your mother, sister, plus my sister and your cousin all live in Greywater Watch. She felt she had no choice. It was the only place we could hide. Robert couldn’t know that either Lyanna or Rhaenys had survived.”

That was...that was so much worse. Jon was relieved, more relieved than he could say that his older sister lived, happy to learn he had another cousin and an aunt who could maybe love him one day. But hearing that the man he’d thought was his father had ripped him from his mother was almost too much to bear.

He felt so betrayed. His...uncle had known how much Jon suffered. How desperately he wanted a mother’s love. He’d let Jon believe his mother was Ashara Dayne and that she’d killed herself. He’d let his wife...he’d let her make him feel worse than worthless, let her place him in the servants quarters instead of the family’s. She’d turned his little sister against him and tried to do the same with the rest. Jon didn’t know if Lord Stark realized how often Jon wouldn’t even eat unless Ned was in the hall as well. That or he’d sneak to the kitchens or Arthur would bring him food. His clothing was his own to care for and he only received more when it was practically unwearable, at least knowing how to sew was a handy skill, regardless the stigma against men doing so. . 

She’d even kept him from certain lessons and tried to keep him from the library. Though Uncle Arthur had always encouraged him to read, would buy him or sneak him as many books as Jon wanted, without him Jon knew he wouldn’t be half as well read. He had even taught Jon High Valyrian, for reasons he didn’t understand until now.

Lady Catelyn and her septa had haunted Jon’s childhood. Always there, always sneering and making snide remarks. Punishing him for things he didn’t do. Blaming him for any negative behaviour from her trueborn children. Especially Arya. It was his influence that was ‘ruining’ her according to them. And Ned Stark never said a word. The most he’d ever done was tell Jon, “ _You have to understand, Jon. I shamed her and my bringing you here hurts her heart and pride. You are not her son, but you have my blood, Stark blood. Be strong.”_

All of it served to make Jon try to be a shadow, he walked on eggshells in his own home. He was a part and apart. He had to make himself small, to hide any skill or edge he had over Robb. Or any of the others. 

He and Sansa had once played music together for Lord Stark, Jon singing and playing the harp, Sansa singing the duet. Music was the only reason Sansa would deign to spend time with him, because Jon’s skill was that great and she wanted to learn. Jon had looked up mid song when he heard the door open and there she was, that sneer already in place. Lady Stark’s face had been red with rage when she saw him and Sansa playing music together, she’d stormed to Sansa and yanked her away from Jon, saying how it didn’t do for a lady to sing with a bastard.

Jon had looked back down, cheeks pink and eyes swimming with tears. His fath...uncle had said softly, face oddly pale, “ _I think it best you stop playing or singing, Jon. You’re very talented but I don’t think it appropriate.”_

Jon had ran straight to his room, his Uncle Arthur finding him. When he told him what had happened, his uncle uncharacteristically cursed. Jon had never seen him so angry. Arthur assured Jon they were just jealous and threatened by his skill, and that there was no rule against bastards being musicians. Jon had kept playing and singing, but only in private after that. It was the last time he and Sansa had done anything together and it happened three years ago. 

With all of that, he didn’t know why he was so surprised at Arthur’s revelation, but he was.

“Why, why would Lord Stark do such a thing?”

Arthur sighed. “He had his reasons. Ones I and your mother disagree with. Believe me Jon, we’ve done the best we could. I was coming to stop you and bring you to Greywater Watch, to meet your mother and learn the truth, and Ned be damned. We were prepared to flee to Essos, though Howland may have sheltered us regardless of Ned’s orders. 

We should've done it sooner and would have moved once Stark became Hand. It was too dangerous having you there after that. 

Regardless, this soulmark has been a boon, a blessing.” 

Had it? Maybe it had been but it’d also completely upended Jon’s life. He tried not to think on it too much, but sometimes at night he could feel something from it. If he focused hard enough he could sense something sweet and cunning, ambitious and compassionate and swore he could smell roses. He tried to ignore it, he worried about what she could sense of him. Because he knew what he was feeling was his soulmarked, Lady Margaery Tyrell. When he thought her name, the soulmark practically sang with happiness.

He was terrified of meeting her. If she was anything like Lady Catelyn… he couldn’t imagine how a daughter of a southron Great House would react to being soulmarked to a tree worshipping bastard. Despite what everyone claimed, he knew no one would forget he was a bastard first, as far as anyone else knew at least. 

He sighed, though if her mark was anything like his...who knew what they thought. Had they figured it out? He couldn’t imagine them betraying him at least. As doing so could easily result in him, and therefore Margaery as well, being killed. 

Not only that but who knew how the gods would take it? Even if they didn’t themselves kill Jon, the gods could still blame them for telling his secret. They say there’s none so cursed as a kinslayer, but truthfully there is none so cursed as a markedslayer. Or as one who tries to keep mates apart. 

He’d been reading the books Maester Aemon had given him by candlelight whenever they stopped to rest, there was not near as much known about soulmarks as he’d expected. Marked pairs didn’t appear to _want_ to discuss their marks, which was very unhelpful to newly marked people. 

It was known feelings and pain could be felt through the marks, but not the extent. Just like it was known to kill one, is to kill the other and that doing so brings down horrible retribution. As did separating a marked pair. He could already feel this need to be near her, this only daughter of the Warden of the South.

He prayed to all the gods that she was nothing like the eldest daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

Uncle Arthur smiled in sympathy. “I’m sorry, J, I swear your questions will be answered but we need to leave. We need to get to Moat Cailin, we can contact the Reeds from there and meet your bride to escort her to Winterfell. Plus, I think some things you should hear from your mother.”

Jon almost argued, returning to Winterfell had been his only option before. But he didn’t want to return to Lady Catelyn, even if he’d love seeing Robb. More importantly, he had a mother to meet and a different sibling to see.

“To Moat Cailin then.”

………

It took around a sennight to get there. A sennight where they avoided the hardest topics and stuck to ones Jon could handle without his chest heaving, his breath coming in short shallow gasps.

He learned more about his father. He learned that aside from his hair and long face, Jon took most after Rhaegar. His full lips, high cheekbones and aquiline nose. The brightness in his eyes, as well as their unusual color. That even Jon’s personality was all Rhaegar. His sullenness and solemnity weren’t from Eddard Stark, but from the melancholy Silver Prince.

His interest in learning and knowledge was from him as well, while his interest and natural talent with swords was surprisingly all his mother. As was his skill on a horse, even if Robb was the better lance. Arthur said of all the new generation of Starks, Arya took after her aunt the most. Even his temper was likely from his father’s side, which worried Jon a bit. Arthur said his mother’s temper was fierce, fast and fleeting. While his father’s was hard to ignite but when it did, it was akin to wildfire. 

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Just like he wasn’t sure how to feel about two of his dreams coming true, yet in a way he’d never imagined; he’d never expected it to hurt so much to get what he’d always wanted. 

He’d wanted to be trueborn ever since he’d learned the word ‘bastard’. Ever since Sansa had stopped wanting to play with him and started referring to him as her half brother. 

He’d been young the first time the septa had told him that he was born of lust and treachery and was therefore lustful and treacherous himself. Greedy and sneaky like all bastards. Not fit to clean his trueborn siblings shoes .

And he believed her about it all. Because part of it was true. He _had_ always wanted more. He couldn't lie to himself and pretend he'd never wanted to be the Lord of Winterfell one day, wanted to be the one who would wield Ice.

Yet, they _were_ wrong. Because he’d never wanted that at the expense of Robb or his siblings.

He'd just wanted to belong, to have something of his own and control over his own life. He wanted to prove to them all that they were wrong and that he could be great. 

Now, now he learned he’d been trueborn all along. Just not a Stark. No, he was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon as Arthur said. He'd also pointed out that he had the blood of the two arguably most noble houses in Westeros. 

The Starks had ruled in the north for 8,000 years. The Targaryens united the realm and ruled it for 300 years, they were dragon riders. He decided he’d delight in seeing the faces of Septa Mordane and Lady Catelyn if they ever learned the truth and how they’d treated a, a Targaryen Prince.

Arthur had also pointed out with a snicker that almost any house, aside from the Freys was more noble than the Tullys. The Targaryens had saved them and given them their power. They betrayed them in treachery. They'd shown the power move it was by holding the rebels hostage for two marriages. At least, that was what Arthur said. 

But Jon had still been raised a bastard. So what did that make him now?

That night he dreamt he was running through the woods, chasing a stag. He awoke with the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. 

……….

They were standing in front of one of the towers of Moat Cailin. His Uncle Benjen said it was safe when they’d seen him. That they’d moved all the servants from it so they would have privacy. Then his uncle had hurried him along, knowing he was eager to see someone else.

He knew who she was the moment he laid eyes on her, her wild, curly, almost black hair and long face twins to his own. Everyone else in the yard disappeared as his vision tunnelled in on her. She had tears in her silver eyes, excitement and anxiety clear on her beautiful face.

“Mother,” he breathed, voice cracking on the word.

At the same time she whispered, “Jaehaerys.” So softly he barely heard it.

Before he could question it, she was moving towards him and he towards her. Meeting in a crushing hug, her face buried into his shoulder, his jaw against her temple.

There would be time later for anger, time later for the hurt and pain. Right now he just relished in feeling a mother’s love for the first time in his life. It was better than he’d ever dared dream. 

She was shaking and sobbing and he realized with a hint of shame that so was he. Then he felt a body slam into his side, an arm snaking across his back and holding him tight.

He looked down to his right to see a young dark haired woman, with beautiful burnished bronze skin. She looked up at him and he saw his own eyes, a purple so dark it was almost black reflected back.

This must be his sister, Rhaenys. She'd been saved by Varys and Jaime Lannister, oddly enough. Arthur said she still suffered from guilt that she survived while her mother and Aegon had not. Despite it not being her fault. 

It was odd, he hadn’t even known he had another sister, well only actual sister he supposed. He hadn’t known Rhaenys lived but a sennight, let alone that she was his big sister. But looking at her, being hugged by her and his mother, it felt like a piece of his heart was clicking into place.

But there were three pieces missing. Just like there were three other people who should’ve been here now. His big brother, who’d barely gotten to live at all. His stepmother who Arthur assured him would have loved him like her own, for she was kind and compassionate, as well as smart and sly. And the father he’d never known. The father Arthur had sworn was nothing like the stories Jon had grown up hearing. According to Arthur Rhaegar was kind and gentle. That he preferred books to swords but trained and became a great warrior anyway, because he felt it his duty.

Arthur hadn't lied and made Prince Rhaegar out to be perfect. He'd said he wasn't, that he was caught up in his own head. Solemn and melancholy, _'like someone else I know'_ Arthur teased. He'd told him they'd all made mistakes back then, though none bigger than trusting the wrong people and assuming honor where there was only treachery and deceit. 

Which turned out to be another story for another time. 

Jon wasn’t sure how, but he wanted those responsible for the loss of his family to pay. Not just the family dead and gone, but his grandmother, aunt and uncle across the Narrow Sea as well. 

He finally sniffed, let go and stepped away from his mother and sister.

He turned to her, “Rhaenys, sister, it is wonderful to meet you. Even if also very confusing.”

Rhaenys laughed and grabbed his hand, “Oh valonqar, I’ve been waiting a long time to have you back. We won’t let you away from us again, and we’ll have more time later. Come, there’s more friends and family for you to meet.”

It was hard to turn away from his mother and newly found sister. But he managed, and looked into the face of the woman he'd grown up believing was his mother and that she was dead by her own hand, for the child that Ned Stark stole.

She was beautiful and looked kind, as he'd always dreamed she was. Like his real mother appeared as well. He could also see why people believed she was his mother, though her features were different than his own. Her eyes were a soft violet, her hair straight and black. Her face was heart shaped, get features a little softer, a little less refined. 

He went to kiss her hand, he thought that’s what he was supposed to do but she swept him up into a hug. 

“Oh Jaehaerys, it’s so good to see you again. It has been too long.”

There was that name again. Jon jolted, it finally hitting him that it was _his_ name. His true one. It was more dignified than Jon but also a mouthful. He… wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to correct her, to tell her his name _was Jon._ But then he felt the eyes of his mother on him and he couldn’t do it. Not then at least.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ashara. I have wished to do so for a very long time. Due to me thinking you were my mother and all.”

She flinched, and Jon wished he could take it back. It wasn’t her fault after all. The most he could muster was a small smile in apology.

She turned to her left and gestured to the young man standing there. “This is your cousin, Alaric Dayne. He’s been desperate to meet you.”

Jon walked over and shook his hand. His cousin was tall and muscled, though not bulky. He had the long face of the Starks, and eyes grey as storm clouds. Even Jon could admit he was handsome, if a bit roguish.

“Well met cousin.”

“Well met,” Jon replied.

Jon heard yipping behind him, he turned quickly and felt his jaw dropping for what felt like the thousandth time since that day in Castle Black. For there, playing in the snow, was a direwolf the same color as Valyrian steel rolling on the ground with Ghost. And behind them, watching calnky, a direwolf the size of a small horse with quicksilver eyes.

“I...how?” Jon stuttered.

His cousin and his mother both walked over to the wolves.

Alaric gave him a crooked smile. “You didn’t think the Starks of Winterfell were the only with direwolves did you?”

Jon side eyed him, “Considering before a few days ago, I had no idea there were any Starks outside of Winterfell, except Uncle Benjen, no I had not.”

Alaric looked laughed, “Point taken. Though Uncle Benjen has his own wolf as well. Shadow he calls him, showed up with these two, we think he's the father. He's even bigger than Storm, if you can believe it. ”

“We’d wondered what happened to the mother. Robb and I found the pups next to the dead body of a stag. We assumed she’d run off and died elsewhere. Though we never gave any thought to the father. I'd like to see him at some point."

His mother rubbed the head of the large she-wolf. “Storm here showed up at Greywater Watch shortly after we learned you’d gone to the wall, carrying Nox in her mouth. She’s my companion, while Nox is Alaric’s, as Ghost here is yours. Ben's appeared here around the same time.”

Ghost left his tumble with his brother and wandered over to his mother hesitantly. As if he thought she’d reject him. She met him halfway and nuzzled him. Jon was happy for his wolf. Looks like they’re both getting mothers today.

“Well, now that that's settled, let’s get inside. You’ll see Benjen, Jonelle and the kids later, Jae. I'm sure Shadow will be there as well. He thought it best to give us this time. Not overwhelm you too much. For now, we’ll show you your room so you can wash and rest. Then we’ll have dinner.” His mother looked nervous as she said this, though she’d looked nervous the entire time. At least he wasn’t alone in that.

“Lead the way. And I hope we can talk more later, in private. If that’s okay?”

She looked at him and smiled, “We can talk as much as you desire, Jae. That goes for any of us here.”

He nodded and followed his family inside, the sound of the wolves running off to hunt behind him.

The high of meeting them all was starting to fall. He was exhausted and weary and he still didn’t know how to feel. He did know he’d never felt as welcome anywhere, even Winterfell, especially Winterfell, as he felt here.

It was something that both hurt him and gave him hope as he walked inside the rebuilt fortress of Moat Cailin.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. It was a difficult one to write and my longest to date (though that's not saying much). Thanks as always for reading and your comments, kudos and follows. They mean the world to me. 
> 
> Next up, The Golden Roses. We'll get a look at Margaery!


	4. The Golden Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery Tyrell and Olenna Tyrell, keep being surprised, something new to both of them. Then a meeting in Moat Cailin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special treat, I just couldn't stop until I'd finished this chapter. Not all updates will be this quick though.

She was having tea with her grandmother when it happened. Discussing how to salvage the crown prince’s betrothal to the Stark girl.

Margaery had just thought how she’d never tell her grandmother that she wasn’t exactly disappointed at the loss of Joffrey. Not after all they’d learned of his cruelty, when she felt it. It felt like she’d been stabbed through the thigh with a burning sword. She felt as if she was being made and unmade all at once. 

Her tea crashed to the floor, and her right along with it, the glass shards from the cup slicing into her arms.

Her grandmother moved quicker than should’ve been possible for someone her age, screaming for Left to go get the maester.

“Margaery, what is it? Where are you hurt?”

She’d never seen her grandmother, the stolid, brilliant Queen of Thorns so shaken, so uncertain.

“My thigh,” she gasped out. Though, the pain was already lessening.

Olenna was already kneeling down and pushing her skirts up. She let out a little yelp at what she saw. Margaery couldn’t imagine what it was that could make the Dowager Lady Tyrell make such an undignified sound.

She heard footsteps running down the hall. Olenna quickly yanked Margaery’s skirts back down as the maester burst into the room, her mother a few steps behind. She could even hear her brother’s cane tapping farther back and her fathers heavy breaths and footfalls. At least neither Garlan or Loras were here, then her humiliation would’ve been complete.

“Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, is everything alright?”

Her mother interrupted him with a gasp, “Oh Marge, mother, what happened?”

Grandmother snorted. “Maester, we won’t be needing your services after all, you may leave. And while you’re at it, please gather every scrap you can find on soulmarks and do so  _ quietly.” _

Margaery, her mother and the maester all let out the same squeak of surprise.

“I...yes at once, Lady Olenna,” he turned and practically ran from the room, almost knocking Willas off his feet.

“Don’t even start. Everyone get in here, the glass can be picked up later. Mace be a dear and help your daughter and I to a seat please? At least you’ll be helpful in that.”

The power of her grandmother was absolute. Everyone quietly took their seats. Margaery almost faint with shock. She could still feel something on her thigh, though it no longer hurt, aside from a faint sting. She got another jolt when she realized she could feel more from it, through her entire body. She felt a solid presence. Kind and sad, intelligence flashing through. She could even smell pine and snow, sandalwood and embers.

She shook herself as Olenna began to speak again.

“I’ll need to look at it again, dear girl. But I know what I saw, you’re soulmarked.”

Her father was radiating excitement. “Oh how wonderful! That’ll do wonders for our house, the first mark since Jaehaerys and Alysanne!”

Warmth spread through Margaery at that name, she had no idea why but Jaehaerys just seemed like the most perfect name.  _ What is happening to me? The most perfect name?! _

“Yes, yes Mace. Maybe we should figure out who her marked is before we go shouting it to the rooftops!”

“Oh, Margaery! This is so exciting! If anyone deserved it, it’s you my lovely girl.” Her mother’s smile was as bright as the sun.

Her grandmother looked like she agreed, though annoyed at the interruption.”Mace, Willas, leave for a few moments so we can look at her mark again.”

“Shouldn’t we see it too, grandmother?”

“If you want to look at your sister’s thigh, feel free to stay boy. Otherwise, do as I said.”

Both men blushed, and left the room quickly. 

Margaery stood up and her mother helped her out of her skirts. No way was she not seeing it for herself.

It was gorgeous. Bright and vibrant. There was a white wolf with red eyes howling up at a tower, the Hightower, she realized. Growing up along the tower were beautiful golden roses with sharp green thorns. And wrapped around the top of the tower, was a dragon. It’s wings were flared, it’s body was red, bright like blood in the sun, white accents shining on its wings and snout.

She almost fainted. She was shocked her mother didn’t.

“I thought that’s what I’d seen. We need to figure out what it means. Put your skirts back on and try not to mention the dragon to your father. That oaf would likely run through the castle shouting it at the top of his lungs, and get us all killed in the process.”

Alerie helped her daughter back into her skirts, her face white in fear, though pride shone in her eyes.

Margaery sat, numb while her brother and father returned and took their seats. She didn’t know if she even remembered how to speak. She’d thought the soulmark itself incredible, a miracle. But this? This was indescribable and equally as dangerous.

“What do we know of the Starks? There’s a white wolf on her so I’m assuming they have something to do with this.”

“Well, the eldest is Robb Stark, as you know his mother is Lady Catelyn Tully Stark,” Willas had always been bright. After his injury he turned his martial pursuits to mental ones. 

“ _ The mind is a weapon, as sure as a sword, Marge. For you and I, it’s the best one we’ll have, and it needs books like a sword needs a whetstone.”  _ He’d told her once, after she complained about all the lessons grandmother made her take. Not just the ones typical for highborn ladies, but politics and history, more appropriate for a male heir.

She was grateful for it now of course. Someone had to take up her grandmother’s mantle one day, and it certainly wasn’t going to be her father.

“I don’t believe it’s him. What else do we know? Is there any other Stark close in age to Margaery?”

Of course it wasn’t him, that was a  _ dragon _ , not a trout. With that blood red color, she could only believe it denoted a Targaryen, a trueborn one. Which made the Stark direwolf, so much more confusing. Unless they were wrong and it wasn’t for the Starks at all. Soulmarks weren’t always literal. With the Hightower and Golden Roses, however, this one seemed to be doing its best to make sure they figured it out quickly. Though, if they’d just used  _ names _ it would’ve been quicker yet, she supposed the image was much more beautiful in any case.

“The only other male Stark close in age to Marge is that bastard the Honorable Lord Stark brought home from Dorne of all places, after the war, remember mother? There’s no way my Rose’s marked is a Northern, Dornish bastard. Even if his mother is rumored to be Ashara Dayne.” Her father snorted, “No, there are only two men good enough for our Marge, a prince or a king.”

And Olenna Tyrell threw her head back and laughed, laughed louder than Margaery had ever heard her before. She looked at her son with something akin to approval.

“Oh Mace. You’ve figured it out! And Ned Stark is even less honourable than we all believed. Now please, everyone but Margaery and Willas get out. And prepare for us to depart for Winterfell. Be sure to write to the Starks and inform them of our imminent arrival, that we’ll supply coin for the wedding up there and then more for a ceremony under the real gods here. I want to be ready to go in no more than five days. Tell them to expect us in a moon.”

Mace looked like he wanted to argue but decided against it and slumped out. Her mother gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before exiting as well. 

“So Grandmother, are you going to tell us what you figured out?” Margaery asked, a bit testily, he was her marked after all, and she was frustrated she didn’t figure out who he was on her own.

“Your father was right my dear, only a king or prince would do for you. It seems the gods agree. I believe your marked is the son of Lyanna Stark and Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Seems the shocks of this day weren’t close to over then. She looked at her grandmother, willing her to continue. Knowing from her satisfied smirk that there was more.

“I’d never believed those rumours about him and the wolf girl. He was too soft to kidnap and rape a girl to death. Regardless how it happened, due to these marks that boy’s a Targaryen no matter his birth. Making you the mate of the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

This was, this was  _ wonderful.  _ She wouldn’t have to marry Joffrey or any other Baratheon to be queen. She’d get to marry into the family that made hers what they are today, without having to travel Essos and find the Mad King’s son.

It was dangerous, of course. It put them in a very precarious position. She couldn’t imagine how Dorne would react. She knew how the Stormlands and Westerlands would react. The Riverlands would likely be divided. It turned into a charnel house in war. If the Lady Catelyn would support her stepson..nephew? They could get more support. She’d have to see the situation there. Maybe she’d be so relieved he isn’t her husband’s bastard that she’d get her family to support him. She didn’t believe the North would abandon its own, but then, she didn’t know much about the North. The Crownlands would be split as well, though more would flock to a Targaryen than against. Or at least remain neutral. And the Lords of the Narrow Sea would raise the Targaryen banner faster than one could blink, likely rip Dragonstone from Stannis’ very hands if they could.

This could work. Especially with the soldiers and wealth and resources of the Reach.

“What will we do if he’s as mad as his grandfather? He could be half a barbarian for all we know as well.”

Margaery didn’t know why, it was a legitimate concern, but she glared at her eldest brother.

“I can’t explain how I know, but I do not believe he is mad, or a barbarian.”

Olenna ignored her, “We’ll have to find out as much as we can about him, including his name. Northern bastards are Snows, though he could’ve been hidden as a Sand I suppose… I think his name was Jon, but I don’t overly concern myself with bastards so I’m not positive. The idea of Ned Stark having one was just quite humorous, and I vaguely remember laughing over Stark naming his bastard for Lord Arryn.

Willas, I want you to send someone to the Citadel, I’m not certain what to have them search for. Marriage records perhaps, it’s a long shot but it just might be possible.”

Jon Snow… it sounded right but also wrong to Margaery. The name fit ill. It didn’t make her mark practically purr like Jaehaerys had. She wondered if that was his true name. She thought it likely.

King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Margaery had a nice ring to it.

…….three weeks later…….

Most Cailin was intimidating. She had no doubts about why the North had never fallen to outside forces, never been truly conquered. They’d only submitted to Targaryens and their dragons, a smart move. Though the Gardener’s misfortune had seen to the rise of her house, she couldn’t be anything other than sad over such a wasteful loss of life.

Her whole family was with her, Willas had ridden in the wheelhouse with grandmother and mother, even though it hurt his pride. Margaery had spent most of her time in there as well, but she loved to ride. She wished she could ride astride but it wouldn’t be proper here, unfortunately. Maybe she could sneak away with Garlan for a real ride once they reached Winterfell. 

Loras had met up with them on the road, and left Lord Renly behind at their grandmother’s request. He was the only one in the family who didn’t know the truth of her marked.

Grandmother had deemed it too risky. Especially outside the walls of Highgarden, but mainly due to his love for the Lord of Storm’s End, the Usurper’s brother. She didn’t really think her brother would betray her, not if he knew it would result in her death, but he loved Lord Renly beyond reason.

They all knew what Loras was, but didn’t see why it mattered, so long as it remained nasty rumours to the world at large. It wasn’t like he needed to continue the family name, he was a third son.

Margaery’s only issue was that she didn’t think Renly was worthy of her brother’s love and devotion. He was shallow, and rang false. He was copper, all shiny, but worthless and weak in the end. He tried to act kind but Loras had told her of his cruel japes and the cutting remarks he made when people weren’t watching. 

Especially cruel was how he spoke about that lady knight. Though Loras wasn’t very kind about her either, he’d still felt sorry for her. How that girl fawned after someone who mocked her behind her back made Margaery’s heart ache. Loras could be shallow and vain too, but he was truly sweet and caring. He was her favourite brother for a reason, after all.

Maybe she was too hard on Lord Renly. Many would call her shallow and false as well. And she could be, her grandmother had taught her to play the game well. Margaery did desire power and knew the best ways to act to get it, but she also desired to use it to truly help people and do good. She wasn’t completely selfish.

She was about to tell Loras the truth just to get him to  _ shut up _ with his ranting about her bastard soulmarked, about Northern savages. It was exhausting and even if her marked was all those things, it still would not have been helpful. She also couldn’t help the irrational defensiveness she had for him. It angered her to hear him spoken ill of, and she’d never even met him. Soulmarks were strange and powerful. The more she read of them, the more amazed she was. She was also scared to be forced to feel so connected to a stranger. She didn’t feel love, not yet at least. Just a great caring.

She wondered if he’d mind what she’d read about last night. Soulmarkeds could not couple with any but their mate. For a man it was physically impossible, though she supposed with what she knew of Loras, there was still the possibility for rape. For a woman, it couldn’t be anything but rape and was a grievous crime. The thought made her shudder. Grandmother had pointed out that at least they knew there’d be no bastards to threaten her children. So long as he didn’t have any already. But from the little they’d learned that wasn’t likely. 

Luckily, it was grating on their grandmother as well. “Oh Loras, do shut up. Or go somewhere we don’t have to hear your whinging.” Well, luckily for Margaery that was.

Her father had reacted much as they’d expected, it had taken all of them to get him to sit down and shut up. To listen closely to the role he needed to play here. Luckily, the pride didn’t have to be pushed down. Having your child marked was something to be proud of, no matter the circumstances. Though some were better than others.

Her mother had just been happy for her. Lady Alerie was the truest lady, Margaery had ever seen.

There were people waiting for them at Moat Cailin, which wasn’t surprising. What was surprising were the two nonhumans in the courtyard, and the pull she felt to run to that side of the yard. A pull that had been getting stronger as they travelled north. 

They were giant wolves. One was as large as a horse, pure black with bright blue eyes. The other, the other was the mirror image of the mark on her thigh. 

Her grandmother realized it at the same time she did, sucking in a breath.

They startled when that white wolf started walking towards her. Her father called for a guard but Margaery held her hand up. She felt no danger from this creature. No fear inside her.

The wolf had the softest fur she’d ever felt. She giggled as it licked her hand.

She felt warmth spread through her when a voice called out, “Ghost, that’s enough.” And the wolf walked back the way it came. 

She looked up and it was like everyone else disappeared, it was just her and the man before her, just them in the entire world.

They walked towards each other, it felt as if the very air was blowing, trying to push them together faster. 

He was handsome, her soulbound, her marked, her mate. He was tall and graceful, his curly, near black hair brushing his shoulders. He had high cheekbones, with a straight, distinct nose. Full, lips with a cupid’s bow. A strong jaw and a long face. But his eyes, those were what she couldn't look away from. They were bright, his eyes the color of damson.

They reached for each other at the same time and it was like electricity jolted through her. Similar to the times she’d used her fingers at night to find release, though not focused between her thighs.

She was hit with a wave of emotion: excitement, nervousness, fear, insecurity. She could even hear his voice in her head,  _ ‘Beautiful, she’s so beautiful. She does smell of roses.”  _ That was all she heard before she felt a door slamming shut between them, the thoughts disappearing, though the feelings still flowed, if she focused on them.

They both started and let each other go as they heard multiple coughs ring out. Her marked flushed as brightly as she did, and she decided she liked this man. He smiled and she realised her mistake, quickly fumbling and trying to shut her own ‘door’. This would take a lot of getting used to.

“Well, now that’s out of the way, mayhap we can go through the pomp of introducing ourselves before getting out of this blasted cold?” asked her grandmother with a raised brow.

“Of course, my lady. Welcome to Moat Cailin. I’m the Lord of Moat Cailin, Benjen Stark. This is my wife, Lady Jonelle, and my son Torrhen. And to my left is Ser Arthur Dayne and who I think you’re most anxious to meet, my nephew, Jon Stark.”

Her father stepped forward, “It’s a pleasure to be here, my lord. Allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell, my wife, Lady Alerie, my heir, Willas, and my sons, Garlan and Loras. And of course, this beautiful lady is my only daughter, Margaery Tyrell.”

She smiled brightly, though it was an effort to take her eyes away from Jon, she managed. She was sure Garlan and Loras were both salivating to speak with the Sword of the Morning. Her grandmother just looked bored.

“Of course, a pleasure, and Jon Stark is it? We’d thought Margaery’s marked might have a different name.”

Everyone except the Lady of Moat Cailin and the babe looked nervous at that. She felt true fear and resignation through the bond.

Her marked stepped forward again, “We’d worried that may be so… If you all will follow me and Ser Arthur, I believe we can talk in the Tower we’re staying in with some… friends.”

Very careful, such careful phrasing. At least he wasn’t a moron. That was a nice start, she thought.

“Wonderful, let’s be on our way,” came the prickly response from her grandmother.

They said goodbye to the Starks of Moat Cailin and walked to one of the towers on the edge, away from the heart of the castle. The servants were moving their belongings to a different tower. Garlan, Leonette, Loras and her mother trailing behind. 

The white wolf, Ghost, walked silently beside her. Jon, a few steps ahead. Once they entered, Jon turned to her family.

“I’m sorry about that, I’m sure you understand why we couldn’t discuss this out in the open. The only people allowed in this tower are family and a few trusted friends. May we start over?”

“Of course, please,” Margaery said kindly, before her grandmother could jump in with a cutting remark.

“Then it’s my pleasure to meet you, I’m...Jaehaerys Targaryen. And this is my mother, the Princess Lyanna Stark Targaryen.”

Footsteps sounded behind them, a raspy laugh following, “You sure know how to make introductions dramatic, Jae.” Lady...Princess Lyanna came in and sat down across from her family. “I can’t describe how happy I am to meet my son’s soulmarked and her family. I think we’ll get along well, and can mutually...benefit each other.”

“Mother,” Jaehaerys groaned, “not yet, please. We talked about this.”

“Lady Lyanna? But, you’re dead!” Her father exclaimed.

“Obviously not, do keep up Mace, she’s alive and is Lady Lyanna Stark no more. She’s got a tale to tell, let’s not waste time.”

Her soon to be goodmother smiled, she’d apparently heard of her grandmother. By Jaehaerys’ expression, she’d warned him as well.

“Aye, Lady Olenna. I have a tale I think you’ll be most interested in. I’m sure you remember the Tourney of Harrenhal?”

Her grandmother and father said they did, Margaery and Willas stating they’d heard of it.

“Well, that’s where I met Rhaegar and Elia. Elia saw me scare off three squires with naught but a tourney sword. They were attacking one of my father’s bannermen, you see. He’s a crannogman and though was a man grown and them no more than five and ten, they were all still larger than him. They easily took away his only weapon, a three pronged spear. By the time I arrived, they’d already knocked him into the ground, shoving and kicking him. I couldn’t let it stand. The Princess admired me for it and we met a few times throughout the tourney, usually in secret.

She, my brother Benjen, and the crannogman, Lord Howland Reed all helped me in a plot to defend Howland’s honour. The boys helped find armour, while Princess Elia and Lady Ashara found me a horse I could use. There isn’t much need for horses in the neck, if Howland had entered the joust himself, he would’ve shamed his people. We had to do it another way.

So, I entered the tourney myself, as the Knight of the Laughing Tree.”

They were all stunned. Her father a bit scandalised, Olenna and Willas looking on with respect. And Jaehaerys, he looked  _ proud _ of his mother for partaking in something so terribly unladylike. He looked at her, as if to see her reaction. She could tell through the bond that he was pleased by what he saw. She blushed and it wasn’t at all feigned.

“This doesn’t explain how that young man over there is the Rightful King of Westeros,” her grandmother needled. She just couldn’t help herself. Margaery almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“I’m getting to that. As you all know, I won my jousts. I also won the attention and paranoia of the king. Robert and others worked themselves up that night, bragging of how they’d unmask me. Aerys thought I was Ser Jaime and wanted to catch him disobeying orders. He demanded for any loyal to him to defeat the knight the following day and unmask him. When I didn’t arrive at the jousts the following day, the king declared the Knight a traitor. Demanding Rhaegar and his men find this traitorous knight and deliver him for the king’s justice.

Luckily for me, Rhaegar searched the godswood himself, with only Arthur. Where he found me struggling to get out of my mismatched dented armour. Obviously, he did not bring me in. After that though… well we fell in love.” Lyanna paused and blushed. “Not just me and Rhaegar. But me and Elia as well.”

Ah, that was why, she was worried we’d judge her for it. If it wasn’t for Loras maybe we would have. Margaery was just relieved Elia Martell wasn’t the weak, jilted wife everyone thought her to be, that she’d had agency in this sad story.

“Anyway, we kept in touch even after the tourney. I’d already been dreading my upcoming wedding to that fat oaf, but now I was even more desperate to escape. We were making plans, trying to figure out a way to be together. Elia and Rhaegar worked on the High Septon. Trying to sway him that the Doctrine of Exceptionalism didn’t exclude polygamous marriages for Targaryens.”

“This is fascinating but can we please hurry it along? I’d like to get a wash and a rest before dinner,” her grandmother asked impatiently.

Lyanna looked chagrined. “Of course, my apologies. Long story short, we ran out of time and options. Aerys found out who I was, Varys warned Rhaegar just in time for him to save me from Aerys’ men that came to ‘bring me to justice’ while I was on my way to Riverrun for my brother’s wedding to Septa Trout.

I have my suspicions about what happened next, but suffice to say all our plans went to shit and the letters we’d left for my brother and father, never reached their hands. After the deaths of father and Brandon, we even tried to send letters to Robert, Ned and Jon Arryn. None of the riders returned and we know naught what happened to them. 

Before that though, we went to the Isle of Faces and married beneath the weirwoods, with Arthur, Oswell, Elia and Rhaenys as witnesses. We married again at a sept in Dorne, the High Septon officiated, though only Kingsguard and Oberyn Martell were present at that, and he only at the urging of his sister. I am Rhaegar’s second wife, we have the documents to prove it. We have letters from Rhaegar and Elia’s own hands as well, speaking about the marriage, the events and Jaehaerys. My son is trueborn. And if we play this right, you’re granddaughter will be his queen.”

Her marked sighed, she felt apprehension strongly through the bond. Seems he wasn’t as set on this path as his mother. She’d have to discuss that with him later.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to discuss, before we separate,” his soft, lovely voice rang out. “My lords, my ladies, for reasons obvious, my mother will not be able to attend our wedding in Winterfell, not as my mother at least. Neither will some other members of my family. If it’s alright with you, do you mind if we do a simple ceremony here in the godswood? I don’t mean to, um, consummate until...Winterfell.” He flushed crimson. As did she. “I would just like for my mother to see the ceremony. I’m sorry if that was improper.”

“I don’t see why that should be an issue. Now, Lady Lyanna would you mind escorting us older folks to our rooms and Jaehaerys, why don’t you show Margaery the way, hmm?”

“I’d be delighted, my lady,” Jae said eagerly. “Please, remember to call me Jon out there. Another reason a ceremony here would be nice, we can use my real name. I don’t like the idea of lying during our wedding.”

Yes, she didn’t much like that either. At least with them being marked, the ceremonies were really just for families and tradition. She and Jae had been considered married from the second those marks touched their skin. She took his arm and walked through Moat Cailin. She was happy to learn her marked was no barbarian, the golden prince in King’s Landing was the brute, her Dark Prince seemed much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Next up is Jaehaerys, then Catelyn before moving onto Winterfell. That one will likely be Ned, Margaery and Jae. After that it's Domeric and Sansa!


	5. The Children of the Silver Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the heads of the two remaining children of Rhaegar Targaryen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me a few extra days. I'm in the midst of moving and things are crazy. I also apologize if there are any errors, I'd wanted to post earlier but my toddler keeps waking up and I wanted to post the soonest I could before he wakes again. It's also why I couldn't post earlier tonight like i'd hoped. Thank you all again for reading and commenting, it truly means the world. I hope you enjoy!

Jon

They walked into the room together and as soon as the door closed his mother whirled to face him. She grabbed his face in her hands, looking him over. Her hands shook as she breathed, “You look so much like your father.”

Then her arms were wrapping around him, pulling him into another hug. “I cannot explain how happy and relieved I am to finally have you back with me. My heart has ached for six and ten years. Do not believe that a day has gone by that I didn’t wish to damn the consequences and ride for Winterfell, for you.”

He could see the conviction in her gaze, he knew she was speaking the truth and his shoulders shook with the relief of it. Relief to know he was wanted and loved. That his mother was exactly as he’d always dreamed. She was beautiful and highborn and her eyes did indeed look kind, though she was filled with an energy and vitality he never could have dreamed.

She stepped back from him, nodding her head once before going to sit on one of the worn sofas by the windows. He followed her, and took his own seat. He couldn’t believe it, he was sitting on a sofa directly across from his mother. Her light blue gown was beautiful and looked soft as cashmere, bringing out the silver in her eyes. 

He had just finished rinsing the road off of him and changing into clothes that didn’t reek of dust and sweat and horse not ten minutes ago. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it when he’d put the shirt on but his blue shirt was just a shade darker than hers, his pants a dark grey. A wardrobe in his room had clothes for him, brought from Greywater Watch he supposed. The quality was finer than any he’d ever worn, better even than clothes he’d seen Robb wear. Sansa would squeal if she saw them. The stitching was fine and expertly done, they weren’t lavish but the material and craftsmanship was of the highest quality. He couldn’t believe they were his but they’d obviously been made for him specifically, they fit perfectly, much better than the hand me downs he had before. He wondered how long they’d been working on it. Most of the clothes were in reds, blacks and white, and aside from the pants he had on, none of them grey. He didn’t have to think hard on why that was. While he didn’t particulary want to wear Stark colours he also wasn’t ready to start wearing Targaryen colours either, and not just because it likely wasn’t safe.

The keep was warm so he’d left his overcoat in his sleeping chamber when he’d set off to find his mother. She’d been waiting for him, standing awkwardly in the hall. He followed her, a charged silence echoing between them and now they were sitting in her warm room.

She looked good, young, and he remembered that she was the same age he was now when she’d had him. Her hair was all a dark brown, a shade lighter than his own, no greys in sight. She had a few lines on her forehead and around her mouth. He didn’t have to ask to know they were not laughter.

She broke the silence with a cough and Jon realized he must’ve been staring at her like an idiot for a long while.

“I’m sorry, that it took this long. We were scared what your uncle would do if we tried to steal you away, and about how you would react. We thought he’d have to realise you’d eventually have to be allowed to come to us. Especially with you looking more and more like Rhaegar. We never thought he would send you to the Wall, or fill your head with nonsense about it. Luckily, that soulmark makes everything much easier, my son.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, though those last two words… Jon’s heart clenched at those last two words. In both joy and pain.

“I’m rambling, I’m just, I’m nervous and excited and a bit flustered. But I’m sure you have many questions.”

“I do. I…could you please explain what happened, Arthur explained some, but said the rest was for you to tell me.” He looked at her inquisitively, wondering where she’d start.

Her face turned thoughtful, then she cleared her throat and began, “I suppose it started with my father and his southron ambitions. The north usually kept to itself, House Stark marrying into our bannermen’s families, or houses of the First Men from surrounding kingdoms. My father was urged by a maester from the Reach to change that, to get more power.” Her face twisted with disdain, “I am uncertain whether that was so the North could prosper, have better odds in winter or for his own sake. I suppose I’ll never know, I tend to think both.”

She took a sip from the lemon water placed on the small wooden table between them before continuing, “He betrothed my wild, eldest brother to the eldest daughter of House Tully. You’ve had more than enough experience on the results of that. Then there was me.”

Her face turned red in anger, she took a deep breath before speaking again. “It was Ned that brought Robert Baratheon to my father’s attention. Ned had spoken of me to him and Robert fancied himself in love with me. I’m not sure who Ned thought he was describing to his friend, but it certainly wasn’t me. Not even the young girl I was when he left for the Eyrie and definitely not the person I’d become since he’d left.”

This was most certainly not the story Jon had grown up hearing around Winterfell. There they spoke of Lyanna and Robert as if they had a love straight out of the songs. He knew she’d loved his father but he’d never truly thought on how she’d felt about Robert. After all Arthur had told him of the man, he should’ve guessed, he just hadn’t wanted to think on Robert much at all.

“Ned was so excited,” his mother pressed on, her voice biting, “ so delighted he’d have Robert for a brother in truth. No one but Benjen cared how I felt about it. I begged my father not to go through with it. Even in the North we’d heard of his debauchery. He was only seven and ten when he had his first bastard, and from all accounts well on his way to more. He must have at least a dozen by now.”

That thought made Jon angry, despite not truly being bastard, he had truly grown up as one. It was a terrible fate to foist onto a child and fathering so many… He doubted Robert Baratheon even thought of them, though knowledge of them spread even to the North. He’d heard Lord Stark telling Uncle Benjen once that it was cruel lies. His uncle had snorted and left the room, storming away without even noticing Jon at the other end of the dark hall.

“I went to Ned with my concerns, hoping he could dissuade father. He looked at me like I was a child and an ignorant one at that. He told me how this man I’d met once was in love with me, that he would change for me.” She let out a bitter laugh, “I told him, ‘love is sweet dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature,’' He looked at me in the eye, and told me it was my duty.   
I’m not sure if he was just blinded to the man’s faults by his love for him, or if he just didn’t care how I felt at all, not in comparison to his desire to be Robert’s good brother.”

His mother’s eyes blazed and Jon felt sick. This was the man that had raised him, that he had looked up to and tried to emulate his entire life. That Jon had almost joined the Watch for, just to lift the stain Jon’s existence left on his honour.

He cleared his throat and told her, “I didn’t know. I… I thought he was the most honourable man alive, I thought he was everything I should aspire to be.” He had never felt more betrayed. He didn’t think being stabbed in the heart would hurt worse than this.

“I know you didn’t. It’s one more thing I hate about him taking you. He raised you in such a way that made you believe you’re worthless. He certainly let his wife and her servants to treat you as if you were. He raised you in such a way, I believe, so that even knowing the truth, you’d never take your rightful throne. So you would feel unworthy. So that you would feel like a usurper if you did, instead of his friend.”

He flinched. She was right that he felt that way, but that was not the only reason he didn’t want it.

“That’s true, that I don’t feel like I am worthy of it. I don’t know the first thing about ruling. Regardless of my birth, I was raised a bastard. I got more lessons and instructions and thanks to Arthur, more training than most any bastard, but it was still less than a trueborn heir receives.  
That’s not even the main point, the problem is how many people would die just so I could sit on that throne. I do not feel that is worth throwing the realm into a war.”

“It is your birthright, you are the rightful king. Do not forget that these people butchered our family! It is your duty to rule this realm, the people need you. Gods, I could kill my brother for what he’s done to you. You can learn all that stuff, my love, you’re so intelligent. You have the heart of a good ruler and that's what matters. As far the realm and where it stands...there’s still so much you need to know, Jaehaerys.”

His heart was thumping wildly in his chest, why are we fighting? We just found each other. Why are we fighting?! He didn’t want to let the thought take root but he had to wonder, Is this all she wanted from him? An avenue for revenge? She’d been so sincere earlier and everything Uncle Arthur had told him made it seem like she just wanted him for himself, for being her son. Was that wrong?

He was at least certain that she didn’t mean the part about what Lord Stark had made him as an insult to himself, but he couldn’t help but feel it as a blow nonetheless. He wasn’t what she wanted. He wasn’t what anyone wanted.

He stood up, face red, “So you get angry and feel patronised when you’re told it’s your duty to marry King Robert but it’s fine to say to me? It sounds like you want to give me as little choice as they gave you.” He took a breath, he was tired and sick of everything he knew being taken from him, even his name. “And my name is Jon,” he said it quietly but she took it like a physical blow.

She stood as well, her face twisted, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Do not compare me to them. This is not the same. I don’t ever want to hear that whoremongering kinslayer called king, especially not from your mouth. Never from you, Jae.  
And damn Ned for naming you after Arryn. After everything that man did to our family. I will never call you by that treacherous pigeon’s name. Never.” 

Here teeth were bared like she was a wolf in truth and tears rolled down her face in a steady cascade. It made his heart hurt, made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut. 

“Your father helped me pick out that name for you, Princess Elia as well. It is a gift and one of the few things you have from all three of us. You spit on them by denying it, as you spit on our family by claiming that name.” Her tears fell even faster and she flung open the door and stormed out, her shoulders shaking, leaving him alone in her room.

He realised his own cheeks were wet and quickly wiped them away as Arthur hesitantly walked into the room. 

His violet eyes looked sad, his steps hesitant, as if Jon were a spooked animal.

“I’m sorry for that. It’s been very emotional. I’m certain this is not the way she wanted her first true conversation with you to go. I’m also sorry that I couldn’t help but overhear the last bit.  
I think I can explain why she was so upset, if you’d like?”

Jon gestured to the green and brown sofa his mother had just vacated, then took a seat as well. He didn’t think he could speak without crying more so just nodded his head.

“Ned named you for Jon Arryn, as I’m sure you know. From Varys we know that Lord Arryn and Lord Tully had been planning your family’s downfall for years. Just waiting for the perfect moment, waiting for alliances to be made and your grandfather the king to give them an excuse. They’d been planning on using Robert as a puppet ever since Steffon died.”

Jon felt like he was going to be sick. Did Lord Stark know? He wasn’t certain he wanted the answer to that question.

Arthur continued, “Not only that, but we have reason to believe they may have acted to keep Lyanna’s and Rhaegar’s messages from Lord Rickard and Brandon. We’ve also heard accounts that it was Hoster’s men that told Brandon Lyanna had been kidnapped. That is why your mother cannot stomach you choosing the name Jon. I know you’ve thought it your name for a very long time, but I hope you will consider discarding it when you’re just with family or when you decide it’s time to stop hiding.”

No wonder his mother had been so upset, though Jon—Jae had a right to be upset too. He wished she would’ve waited to discuss his supposed birthright. That she could’ve explained why the name caused her such distress. If he’d known, he never would’ve said that to her, never would’ve asked any of them to call him Jon. He hoped she didn’t decide he wasn’t worth her love and effort. He hoped she truly did love him.

Rhaenys

Rhaenys couldn’t truly remember that day. She’d been only three name days old but she’d heard the story and told it to herself enough times that she felt like she could remember perfectly.

What she was certain she remembered was her mother. Elia Martell had not been robust in body, she was thin and her copper skin looked dulled somehow. But she was strong in spirit, and beautiful even if physically fragile. Her mother had pulled her close, hugging her tightly and whispering how much she loved her. For her to stay safe. To stay with Mother Lyanna, be as good a sister to her new sibling as she was to sweet Aegon. Rhaenys had promised and Elia promised that her and Aegon would be safe. That they were safe in the Red Keep. She’d promised. 

It was a promise she couldn’t keep. Rhaenys had kept hers though. She stayed with Mother Lyanna. And now she’d finally be able to keep the other part of her vow, she’d be the best big sister to Jaehaerys that the world had ever seen. Maybe it would help with the aching hole in her chest. 

She doubted it would ever fully fade, but maybe it could soothe it. Maybe it wouldn’t be as complicated as loving Lyanna was. It sometimes felt as if she was betraying her mother to have Lyanna as a mother to her. To feel that way. Even though she knew her true mother had loved Lyanna Stark fiercely and would have wanted it no other way. That if it had been Lyanna dead and Elia alive, she would have loved Jae as her own too. Raised him with her and Aegon.  
She’d never admit it, she felt guilty even thinking it, but she wished that was what happened. It would be a steep price to pay and would hurt, but she thought Lyanna would cut her own throat if it meant bringing Elia and Aegon back.

Loving Jaehaerys was less complicated. It didn’t feel like replacing Aegon, even though Aegon should’ve been with them. She would’ve protected and loved them both. They would have been best friends and rivals. Jaehaerys would’ve been Aegon’s Hand, and Aegon their brother and king.

Now Jae would be king, and she’d make certain he was great. Maybe she could be his Hand. Maybe one day they’d be close enough for her to tell him all these horrible things she felt. She hoped so. She hoped he’d understand.

Besides their aunt, uncle and grandmother, they were the only Targaryens left. And they alone were the only two that took after their non-Targaryen mothers. Aside from their eyes at least.   
As if he could tell her thoughts had turned maudlin a large black furball jumped into her lap and stuck his butt directly in her face before laying down and looking at her, completely unimpressed.

She hmphed at Balerion. He was all she had left of her life in the Red Keep. And he was right anyway, today was a day for happiness. Her brother was finally coming home to them. Finally out of the clutches of the fish and his traitor uncle.

………..

After the meeting in the courtyard she’d gone back to her room to give Lyanna and Jae some time alone. Though she’d have him next. They had a lot of time to make up for.

When she heard footsteps down the hall and the door next to hers open and shut, she finally got up. She patted Bal and turned to the mirror on the wall. Her purple dress was beautiful but not overstated or gaudy. It was soft and warm, in the Northern style. She’d be happy to get out of the north, she’d never adjusted well to the weather. She was the Sun, a Dragon, she was made for heat.

Her Rhoynish curls were contained in a simple braid that started at her crown and fell halfway down her back. Jaehaerys had the same curls, likely from Princess Myriah. Lyanna had curls as well, but nowhere near as wild as her and Jae’s.  
Her skin was clear, a little lighter olive than her mother’s had been. She had her mother’s almond shaped eyes, though the dark purple color was all Rhaegar. Aegon’s had been lighter, like Rhaella’s, though the shape was the same as hers. She couldn’t remember much else about him, just his silver hair and how happy he had been.

She looked well, it was time to stop stalling, before Balerion decided to shove his butt in her face again, or worse poop in a boot. She summoned her confidence and walked out of her room, head held high and back straight as she knocked on her little brother’s door.

He opened it almost immediately and looked surprised to see her. His eyes were red, and she could see tear tracks down his cheeks, but he smiled widely at her and all her nervousness fled her. He had her smile, their father’s smile and it instantly set her at ease.

“Rhaenys! Can I help you? Would you like to come in?” Seemed his nervousness hadn’t left him. It was quite endearing.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you, we have six and ten years to make up for, after all.” She gave a smile of her own as he held the door wider and moved aside to let her in.

“I haven’t had to wait as long as you have, at least I wasn’t aware of it. But ever since Arthur told me who I am, and that you still lived, I’ve wanted to meet you. I was raised with Arya and Sansa as sisters, as you know but I never truly felt like a Stark, like I belonged. I think it will be nice having a big sister…. I wish, I wish I still had a big brother as well. That there were three of us. I wish you’re mother had lived too. Words can’t express how sorry I am. I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I’ve thought my mother was dead my entire life, that she killed herself and I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.”

He guided her to a seat in the room, a lovely blue and gold couch in front of the fire. She sat and swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling tight She hadn’t expected this.

Her little brother kept on surprising her. “From what Arthur and my...mother have told me, your mother was an amazing woman and would’ve been a stepmother I’d have been blessed to have and… oh gods, oh gods, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, don’t, don’t leave…”

And then he was in beside her, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. She held onto him for dear life. This little brother she’d had but didn’t have for so long. Yes, she thought, I think he will understand.

“Shh, Jae. I’m not going to leave. I just...I wasn’t expecting that. We’re family, I’ll never leave you. I’m just...relieved to have someone who understands what I feel. We do deserve to have our brother, mother and father with us.”  
“I’ll make them pay, Rhaenys, I swear it. We’ll make them pay together. With Fire and Blood,” he vowed. The look on his face was grave and his eyes were fierce. He was definitely a dragon, and a wolf, and she believed him with every fibre of her being. She was viciously happy that he’d included her in that. That they’d do it together. 

“I don’t doubt you, Valonqar. We’ll have to invite Uncle Oberyn as well. He’d be very angry with us if we didn’t save some blood for him.” Her smile was feral, and he echoed it. He didn’t shy away from that angry beast inside her. He truly was her brother.

“But for now, let us focus on the happy things. We’re together and I’d like to get to know you. And for you to know me.”

“Of course. I’d enjoy that.” He motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs by the window before continuing, “Where would you like to begin?”

“Hmmm favorite memory? Youngest goes first!”

He smiled at her teasing tone, eyes bright. “That would have to be the first and only time I beat Uncle...Ser Arthur in a spar.”

She ignored his hesitance about the Sword of the Morning and focused on the rest. “You beat Uncle Arthur?! In a spar? How did you manage that?” She really was surprised, she also wanted to make it clear that despite his new knowledge, Arthur Dayne always had and always would be their uncle.

“I did but only because of my sis...cousin, Arya. She’s always been wild and wants to learn to fight more than anything.” He frowned, “Her mother forbids it. Says it’s “unladylike” and no one will marry Arya if she doesn’t change and start acting more like Sansa.”

Rhaenys cringed. The mention of that fish’s name set her blood boiling. The thought of little Arya, who she’d heard most resembles Lyanna being stifled and told she’s wrong, broke her heart.

“You can still call her and Sansa your sisters, Jae. It won’t offend me or hurt me. Even though from what I’m told one of them doesn’t deserve to have you as a brother.”

He looked at her, checking her face for any signs of a lie she supposed. When he saw none, he swallowed hard and said, “Thank you. They could never replace who you are to me. You have a spot in my heart as well. No matter when we met.” He looked down at his hands, thinking. He had long pale fingers, perfect for playing the harp. She wondered if he was as good as their father. 

Then he spoke again, “It’s not Sansa’s fault. She’s just young and wants to please her mother. She’s been fed fairy tales of princes and maidens and it’s filled her head. She believes that the world is like that, so easily divided into good and bad. It’s what Lord Stark taught all of his children...and me. I’m now starting to realise it was all utter horseshit, hopefully the others learn it too. With Sansa and her obsession with songs and the south and court, she truly believes beauty equals goodness, that titles equate to worth and character. And in such a world a bastard… well, you know what the Faith teaches about bastards, how the south treats bastards.”

She supposed that was true. It didn’t make her want to shake the girl any less though. It was also hard to understand how a northern girl, a daughter of House Stark, could believe such horseshit with the lies about their father and Lyanna Stark running rampant.

“You’re right. She’s young yet. She’ll learn one way or another.” She leaned farther back in the chair, trying to get comfortable and said, “But you were telling me how you beat the Sword of the Morning in a spar?”

He laughed, a full, rich sound and launched back into a tale of little Arya Stark rushing to her brother’s defense and whacking Arthur Dayne in the back of the legs before he could soundly win. How Arthur turned and Jae couldn’t pull his swing, catching him directly across the wrist.   
“He likely dropped his sword more out of surprise than anything else, but it still counts in my opinion. It’s also fun to tease him about.”

Rhaenys laughed, shaking her head. “I wish I had seen that. I do think I’ll like this fierce she-wolf sister of yours, maybe I could teach her the spear. Oz, Oswell Whent, has taught me as much as he knows. I can’t wait for the day I can show my Uncle Oberyn. I’ll likely have to fight your mother for any time with Arya though,” she teased with a laugh.

Jaehaerys went utterly still at the mention of his mother, his smile dropped as a shadow passed over his face. Well, she guessed she shouldn’t have expected him to be completely happy and ignore all he’d suffered and missed due to Lyanna’s decision. Even if the fault truly lies with Lord Stark.

“Do you want to talk about it? Might help and save you and Mother Lyanna some sorrow.”  
He looked like he might beg off but he finally said, “I..Yes, I think that would be nice. Though I’m worried you’ll be as disappointed in me as she seems to be.” 

It was written all over his face that he was bracing for a rejection. Well, she’d just have to prove him wrong. Show him she’d never reject him, she didn’t think he’d reject her either.  
She nodded at him to continue and he launched in, the subject taking her completely by surprise. 

“She brought up the issue of the throne. Saying it’s mine by right and how we need to take it back. For the realm and for our family.”

Rhaenys swore. They were supposed to wait to discuss this, though with the Tyrells likely to arrive soon, she supposed there wasn’t much time. Still, it could’ve waited a day or two. He wasn’t ready for this.

“I’m sorry, Jae. We had all agreed to wait to discuss this, to not push you.”

He seemed so conflicted, and spoke it next. “I… I do want those who did this to our family to pay. I just don’t understand why me taking the throne is necessary for that. I can’t be king! I was raised a bastard, I still feel like a bastard. What kind of king would I be to drag thousands into war and death?”

Now she was the one conflicted, she didn’t know how much to say. She cracked her knuckles to buy her some time, then stood to walk over to the little table in front of the hearth and poured them both a glass of wine. A Dornish red. He made to decline but she shoved the glass at him.   
“Drink up valonqar, you deserve it.”

So they sat there sipping at their wine while she composed her thoughts. Finally she spoke, “There is much you don’t know, Jae. We get a lot of news from our sources around Westeros, but especially from King’s Landing. Suffice to say, the realm is already suffering and war is on the horizon whether we will it or not. The only thing we can decide is whether the next king will be one that deserves it and one that would not be a danger to all of us here and our family across the sea.”

She gave him a moment to take that in before continuing. “Did you know that Baratheon has never stopped trying to find our grandmother and her children? That he still hungers for their deaths? You know what he said about my mother and Aegon and the little girl he thought was me. Imagine what he’d do if he found out I and your mother yet lived and that you exist.”  
He shuddered, violence and fire gleaming in his eyes. “I know, and you’re right. I want our family safe but… me? As king? It’s ludicrous. Why not Viserys? Why can we not just stay here, war will kill so many.”

There was no point pushing him on this right now, it would just alienate him. That fish bitch and Ned Stark had destroyed his sense of self worth. It would take time to rebuild that. But there was something else, something to start him down the path without declaring right away….  
“We do not need to go to war in order to get vengeance for my mother and our brother. The Lannister’s owe us blood, we should settle that debt for them,” she was deathly calm and deadly serious.

The look on his face told her all she needed to know.

…….

Jaehaerys  
……..

His voice was fire when he responded to Rhaenys’ call for blood, burning low and steady, “Vengeance and justice. Better inform you’re Uncle Oberyn. It’s seems we will soon be hunting a mountain and a manticore.” He wasn’t sure where this bloodlust was coming from. Being near Rhaenys seemed to stoke his inner fire or maybe it was the wine. Or maybe he was finally done hiding himself, cowering and trying to be everything he thought Ned Stark was. Ned Stark wouldn’t have condoned such a plan, would call it dishonorable, say one shouldn’t seek vengeance. But Ned Stark was a hypocrite and a liar and Jon found himself not desiring to emulate such a man anymore. He could never look at all he’d learned from him the same way. 

The betrayal was so raw he practically revolted against any thought or action that would fit with the image he’d portrayed Jae’s whole life.

Rhaenys looked thoughtful, saying, “Well, I believe we can plan that later, with everyone. Who knows maybe your marked’s family could aid us in that endeavor. For now, you should rest a bit.”

She bit her lip, as if contemplating saying more. “Also, please don’t think too harshly of your mother. She’s barely slept since the word came of you going to the wall. But she loves you, Jae. She will love you no matter what. I’ll talk to her, ask her to ease up on the king talk, okay?”  
He nodded, he was tired and most things were usually better after some rest. But before she could leave, he grabbed her hand in his. “Did you know our great Uncle Aemon Targaryen is the maester at the Wall?”

She shook her head, looking at him in interest.

“He’s the brother of Aegon the Unlikely. He was the only person there I told about my soulmark. He put the pieces of my identity together through that. He told me something and I didn’t really know how true it was until now. He said, ‘A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing’.”  
Grief passed over her face and he continued, “I’m glad we’re not alone anymore, big sister.”  
The smile she gave him was blinding, he gave her one back. She hugged him tightly before leaving his room, ordering him to rest. 

……

Dinner that night was a quiet, intimate thing. Just him, his mother and sister, and the Daynes.  
His mother had found him on the way to the hall, ostensibly to show him the way, but truly to apologize.  
The remorse in her voice was genuine at least, as she told him, “I’m so sorry, Jae. This was not how I wanted things to go. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long and I ruined it. I’ve been so emotional and exhausted, it’s been making me ill. That’s no excuse for pushing you, or bringing this up too fast and too soon.”

She took a breath before continuing, “I hope we can start over. We will eventually have to talk about all of it but...it can wait for a bit longer yet. Would you be willing to start over, give me another chance?”

His eyes stung at the emotion in her voice and the love and hope evident on her face. No one had ever looked at him that way before. Not even Arthur, Arya or Robb. Definitely not his uncle… He supposed this was what a mother’s love was like. He wanted more of it.   
“Of course. And I’m sorry too. I didn’t know, I didn’t know about the name and my true name was sprung on me so quickly that I never had the time to look at it from that perspective. To see it as a gift from all of my parents.”

He stopped walking, giving them more time to talk before arriving at the small dining hall. “After everything I’ve learned about Jon Arryn, I wish I’d never have to go by the name Jon again. Though Jaehaerys will still take some getting used to, I’d be honored to use my true name.” He meant it too, even though it still sent a pang through him.

She smiled a watery smile, but a happy one. “Thank you. I still shouldn’t have reacted as I did but thank you for this chance, and for your decision regarding your name. All of us will call you Jae in mixed company. They’ll likely think it’s a diminutive for Jon.”

She was right about that, he realised Arthur had almost always called him Jae as well, though Jo—Jaehaerys had assumed he was just saying ‘J’.

He felt better than he had in weeks, moons, maybe even years. It was so easy to slip into this group, to feel welcome and integral. As if he belonged. He imagined it felt like what family should feel like. There were a few awkward moments. Moments when he thought of Winterfell. Moments when he felt as if he was betraying his family, before remembering he had been betrayed by Lord Stark. That this was his family, that his mother and Rhaenys were his closest kin. He’d always see his Stark cousins as siblings, Arya would always be his little sister who’s hair he loved to ruffle. Maybe now that he wasn’t going to waste away at the Wall, he could actually teach her to use that sword he’d given her. Robb would always be his brother as well. The same was true even for the Stark children he wasn’t as close with, he just hoped they would all feel the same.

He was more scared than he’d ever admit that they wouldn’t.

Alaric snapped him out of his thoughts with a proposition, “Cousin, would you do me the honour of a spar tomorrow? I’d love to match myself against you. It’ll be nice having another man around so close in age.”

His grey eyes were dark, darker than Ned Stark’s, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of the Warden of the North when he saw them. He wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up as brothers with Alaric. Wished he’d had the chance.

“I would love to, though if you’re anything like our uncle I know I’ll have my work cut out for me,” he accepted with true excitement. Who knew? He may be sparring with the next Sword of the Morning tomorrow.

He saw the relief on Arthur Dayne’s face and was glad he had decided that he was his uncle, no matter their blood relation.

Alaric grinned and it was a feral thing, roguish. He was the only male of this generation that looked a true Stark. Arya being the only other. And he was the trueborn son of the true heir to Winterfell. Jae bit his lip, worried for Robb. He honestly wasn’t sure how to feel. Winterfell was Alaric’s by right but Robb has grown up as the heir to the North. It didn’t feel right for it to be swept out from under him due to his father’s lies.

Alaric’s grin faded, as if he could see every thought on Jaehaerys’ face loud and clear.  
“I don’t want Winterfell,” he said quietly. “I never have. My mother told Lord Stark as much, it’s why she named me Dayne and not Stark.”

“But it’s your decision to make, is it not?” Jae didn’t know why he was pushing this. It was a good thing he didn’t want it. It meant Robb would keep it.

“It is, and I agree with my mother. I have something else I want to do with my life and that dream lies in the south, not the north.” 

Jae sighed, relieved and not just a little curious about what it was that Alaric wanted to do, to become. “That’s good. I think you and Robb would like each other. Though I’m sure Lady Catelyn would do anything to keep that meeting from taking place. You’re lucky she doesn’t know about you.”

Alaric snorted. “If the only person it would hurt would be that Tully fish, I would take it just from spite. But I have no desire to hurt my little cousins or upend their lives.”

Jae laughed, “Aye. I won’t lie and say that thought never crossed my mind. I’ve had daydreams of turning into the treacherous bastard she always said I was, but I couldn’t hurt my siblings, no matter what I feel for their mother.”   
Conversation around the table died, Jae looked up to see the stony expressions of everyone seated. Had he said something wrong?

It was his mother who spoke, setting her goblet down with a thud, “That woman has much and more to answer for. And she will, I swear it on my honour as a Stark.” She looked him in the eye and he saw the torment and fury there. For him, she was angry for him. He decided then that he’d been right to take Rhaenys’ advice, and to meet his mother after dinner to try again.

They walked to the godswood together in companionable silence with an underlying tenor of anxiety. When they made it in they both took up seats on roots near each other. It was a bit before either spoke, his mother broke first, clearing her throat and apologising once again.

“I truly am sorry Jaehaerys. Your sister spoke to me and I’m ashamed of how I acted. I shouldn’t have pushed so much on you at once. For you this is all new, you haven’t had six and ten years to think on it, to anticipate it. You’ve not been raised as Crown Prince, this must all be so very overwhelming.”

She paused, picking at her nails before starting again. “Rhaenys was right that this is your decision and there’s no need to make it today. Though I do believe it wise to truly think on it, unfortunately we don’t have the luxury of time. Lady Olenna is no fool and she will likely figure it out on her own if her granddaughter’s soulmark is anything like yours. But it is your choice. Regardless if it’s the one I’d make, I will support you my son.”

He glanced around the godswood, gathering his thoughts. The heartree here looked wrathful, one of the more intimidating that he’d ever seen. The night was alive with the sound of insects and a soft wind set the leaves to rustling.

Jon laughed and there was nothing humorous in it. “All my life I was a bastard, a bastard of a high lord, living in his home. Bastards in my situation don’t get to make decisions about their fate. Even going to the Wall wasn’t truly my choice. It was the only option I believed open to me, since staying with Lady Stark without Lord Stark as a buffer was no option at all.” 

He took a breath and looked at his hands, though he knew he’d find no answers there. “And now I find out I’m not a bastard, but the heir to the Iron Throne. No matter what I do, whether I act to take it or don’t, the decision is mine and the consequences rest solely on me. No matter what I choose people will be hurt. People I care about. I’m terrified and I can’t help but be resentful of it.”

He ran his hands down his face, suddenly tired and willing to admit that for all that he’d claimed he was a man grown, he was nothing more than a green boy. 

“I’ve found lately that we should be careful the wishes we make in the dark because in the light they’re never what you expected. I wanted to make my own choices and now my choices impact the fate of not just me, not just my family but the entire realm.”

His mother stood and crossed to where he was sitting, grabbed his hand in hers and held it tightly. “Yes, that’s one of the hardest things about growing up. I learned that lesson quite painfully myself.” 

Silver lined her eyes and he thought on how brutally she had learned that lesson. She’d been younger than he was now when she’d lost so very much.

“Mother, from what I understand it wasn’t really your choices that reaped such tragedy but a king’s madness and the treachery of ambitious men.”

She gave him a slight smile. “I appreciate that, son. But I cannot help how I feel. Even if I know it would’ve happened one way or another, it doesn’t change they used mine and Rhaegar’s actions to do it.” 

She shook herself. “This isn’t what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell you that you are not alone in these decisions. You have people that love you dearly to help you make these decisions, and to support you in them. You do not need to carry this weight alone.”

He hugged her then, happy he’d listened to his sister. Happy to be supported. Even if he was still terrified and slightly nauseous at the thought of being king.

They stayed talking beneath the weirwood for hours. When he finally laid himself in the comfortable bed he fell asleep with a smile on his face. He was glad to have these people with him for this. His mother and sister seemed the best women he’d ever met, and fiercer than many men in their own ways. Ashara was lovely and clever. Alaric would be a great sparring partner and someone Jae knew could become like another brother to him. Arthur was Arthur. 

Now that he knew the truth it came to him in stark clarity that Arthur was the only father he’d ever truly had. Even when he supposedly had a true one.

…………….

The next day he woke early, excited for his spar with Alaric. It seemed that would have to wait for later though, as when he walked out his door Rhaenys was already waiting for him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her grin wide and infectious.

“Hello sister, what has you so excited? I was just about to head to the yard to spar with Alaric.”  
“Well, we’ll both have to make our apologies to him because there’s something I need to show you!” She practically squealed in delight and Jae felt his own excitement bubbling up.

“Then lead the way.” He executed a bow, which made Rhaenys laugh, before she hurried off, practically at a run. He was stunned for a moment then took off after her.

She slid to a stop outside of a room he hadn’t entered yet, then took out a small silver key and unlocked the door. She beckoned him in and he followed after, his eyes needing a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. In the middle of the floor sat a large chest. It had intricate carvings all along the top and sides, there were running wolves, roses and a large three-headed dragon in the very middle.

“This is our inheritance. Most in that chest is yours, I just keep mine and Aegon’s...well you’ll see.” Rhaenys took out another small key, and unlocked it. She motioned for him to open it himself.

He felt anxious all of the sudden but pushed past it, kneeling before the chest. He took a deep breath and opened it. He looked to his sister, his mouth wide open in shock, for inside the chest was what he knew without really knowing how were dragons eggs. They were larger than chicken eggs and much more beautiful. They appeared to be scaled and shone like jewels. 

They were the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

He immediately felt drawn to the egg in the center, reaching his head to touch it and jerking it away when he felt how warm it was. He felt mad, but he could’ve sworn he felt something move inside of it. He reached out again and picked it up, it was warm, almost hot. The scales were a deep red, the color of blood, but when he moved it he could see an opalescent white shimmering as well.

Rhaenys placed her hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump, he’d forgotten she was there entirely he was so entranced.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” she whispered.

“I..it’s warm and I know it sounds mad but when i first touched it...something moved.” He spoke just as quietly as she, as if this moment was something sacred.

She nodded her hand, her indigo eyes flashing, looking almost vindicated. “Yes. Exactly. I feel it too, though no one else here does. I wonder if our family in Essos can feel the same with their eggs.”

“There’s more?” He’d only spoken at a normal level but it came out sounding to loud and he winced.  
“There are. One for each of us.” She reached over and picked up the egg on the right, it was beautiful. Silver with red accents, close to being the inversion of the one he’d grabbed first. “This one was Aegon’s, his cradle egg. Father found all six at Summerhall but hid them from our batshit grandfather for reasons that should be obvious.” She tried to smirk at her humour but he could tell it was just to get past the pain of speaking about their brother.

He decided to humour her, “Oh no, I can’t imagine why he’d want to keep fire breathing reptiles the size of castles away from dear old grandpapa.” She snorted and he counted it as a success. “So that means the one on the left is yours then?” 

It was a vibrant orange, with little spots that shone like rubies, slightly smaller than the other two.

“Yes, that one is mine. The colors of my mother’s house. Interesting that you knew the middle one was yours without my saying anything,” she replied as she bumped his shoulder with her own.

He wondered what the other eggs looked like, he liked that the eggs belonging to him and his siblings all had red in them. Though the eggs were very interesting and it was almost painful to put his down, he wanted to see what else was inside. He told Rhae as much and she helped him lift the other two out.

The sea of black they’d been nestled in turned out to be a cloak. A fine one made of the softest fabric he’d ever felt and with a three headed dragon emblazoned on the back, made of small rubies.

“It’s the cloak father put around your mother’s shoulders at their weddings. I have a similar one that was my mother’s, I’ll use it as my maiden cloak one day.”

Jaehaerys wished he could use this to cloak his own bride but knew he could do no such thing...unless they did a secret ceremony first? At least, unlike his parents his true wedding would not be secret from the realm, though may spark a war all the same, a voice said in his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lord Stark. Jae shuddered, it’d do no good to worry about that know, and imagined voice or not, he wouldn’t let Ned Stark ruin anything for him ever again.

He turned around and hugged his sister. “Thank you so much for sharing this with me Rhae. It means the world to me.”

She waved him off. “Nonsense, it’s yours. You can keep it with you, I’ll find another place to keep mine and Aegon’s, I don’t like being separated from it.” She blushed and finally admitted, “I sleep with it most nights.”  
He laughed, “You sleep with an egg in your bed? I have much to learn about being a Targaryen, who knew I should’ve been cuddling eggs my whole life?”

She slapped his shoulder, harder than he expected. “You’ll see. A bet you a gold dragon that you’ll be cuddling with yours no later than tomorrow night.” She paused before continuing, “Why don’t you take that chest to your room, there are letters for you in there. One is from father to you and a few of his to your mother. Their marriage certificate and your birth record are in there as well. There’s also at least one letter from my mother to you. After you’ve read it, if you’re agreeable, I’d love to read it for myself.”

He assured her that he’d be glad to let her see anything in the chest that was from her mother and likely whatever he had from their father as well. He hugged her before leaving, walking as quickly as he could with an ungainly chest in his arms. 

He had letters from family he’s never known and he wanted to get lost in them.

He couldn’t finish them all that night, he fell asleep thinking of all the other people he still needed to meet and those he’d never meet at all. Even asleep he could feel his chest tingling. He had been having feelings that were not his own more often and more intensely as the days passed by. 

He wasn’t at all surprised two days later to get word that his soulbound would arrive in a few hours. He had reason to believe she was excited, and many other things as well. There’d been one feeling he’d been waiting to come through and it never had. He’d never felt her disgusted or distressed. He thought it was a good sign.

…………

Rhaenys.  
………….

She had been so excited to meet her brother’s marked and she was not disappointed. Everything about the Tyrells seemed straight out of a song. She was impressed by the image they’d carefully cultivated. That skill for optics and politics would be helpful if Jae did indeed go for the throne.

Margaery Tyrell was by far one of the most beautiful women she’d ever laid eyes on. By the gobsmacked look on Jaehaerys face, he agreed with that assessment.

In her green and gold gown, with a cut out showing a window of clear golden skin right above her navel, she looked like the maiden reborn. Her hair was silky, and beautifully curled. The gold combs on either side of her head brought out the colour in her golden brown hair. 

Her eyes were probably her best feature, they looked like warm honey and were doe shaped with long lashes. Rhaenys wasn’t certain how anyone had lashes so long. Perhaps she uses some product? Rhae would have to ask; they were to be sisters after all, and didn’t sisters share such things?

Honestly, all of the Tyrells were almost sickeningly beautiful. Well, except the fat flower and Queen of Thorns. Though one was fat and the other older than dirt, they were likely both something to look at in their primes.

It wasn’t the delicate beauty of the youngest looking son, nor the military looking second son. It was the son with the cane and limp that nabbed her attention. He was older than her, by 5 or ten years. Intelligence was bright in his eyes like it was in his grandmother’s and sister’s.

She would endeavor to spend some time with the heir to Highgarden, though she knew she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t even be watching from a dark corner but she couldn’t help herself. She felt vindicated that her Myrish spyglass had come in handy, she’d been teased for wanting one and groaned at over the expense for quite some time. 

She didn’t need any help to hear the Queen of Thorne’s comment about Jae’s name. She cursed in a manner very unsuitable for princesses and dashed off to warn everyone in the tower and give Lyanna a brief description of what she’d noted. Namely, that the Dowager Lady Tyrell was indeed in charge and most certainly knew the truth (or at least the most important bits). She’d inform her of Jae and Margaery’s interaction as well, it had been most interesting.

Rhaenys believed the gods brought Jaehaerys a Tyrell soulmarked for a reason. That reason being retaking the throne. It’s the only thing that made sense to her. They seemed to be setting her brother up to have the best chance possible. And maybe matched him with someone who could help him feel worthy of the throne, to desire it.

She hoped they’d not stay long at Winterfell and that perhaps she could return to Highgarden with them. She was loathe to leave her brother, they all felt the same way. Lyanna going so far as to join them in Winterfell, posing as a servant. Rhaenys tried to talk her out of it but was rebuffed. She’d just have to hope it went well, she’d pray it did.

She had a plan to get to Highgarden, it would be dangerous but wasn’t everything? If she had to pose as a bastard she’d do it, if she had to pretend to be a chambermaid, she’d do that too. She didn’t think she’d have to pretend for too long though, not now that she’d seen the Tyrells. Her brother would come around, she was certain of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Next up Trouts of Blue and Red. It'll be up some time this weekend, I'm 3/4 through. Have a great weekend!


	6. Trouts of Blue and Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn arrives in Riverrun learns some things and plots with her father 
> 
> Hoster Tully ails and plans and has father daughter time

Catelyn

Catelyn Stark loosed a breath of relief. They had finally made it, the strong walls of Riverrun were before her. The Red Fork and Tumbledown shining around it. It hadn’t taken too long to get here, she hadn’t even bothered to stop at Moat Cailin, skirting around it instead. She didn’t want to see the bastard, didn’t want to see her good brother, who’d always loved the bastard best, above his trueborn nieces and nephews. Oh, she knew he wasn’t a bastard anymore, not in the eyes of the gods or the laws, but he would always be one in her eyes. There was no undoing the treachery in him.

She’d left the day after Ned had returned. When he’d agreed to host the wedding, to allow it to go through. Whatever they said about soulmarks, she was sure he could’ve if he truly desired to. The only demand he’d acquiesced to was that the bastard could not use her sept. She’d die before she’d let him foul it up with presence.

She’d wanted to bring both girls and her two youngest boys with her. She’d known asking for Robb to come would’ve been a lot cause. Not only was he the heir but he loved his half brother. She’d tried to keep them apart, tried to warn Robb but he would not listen. That was her greatest failing with him. Arya was even worse. The bastard was her favorite. Likely because he encouraged her wildness, probably just to spite Cat herself. At least Sansa, her perfect lady had paid heed to her and the septa’s warnings. Bran and Rickon loved him too, but they were much younger, there was still time for them. Perhaps now would be the time to get through to them. Ned had allowed her to bring them both with her.

If only the boy hadn’t gotten out of pledging his life to the Wall. It was the only place he could find honour, though she doubted he would’ve. She wondered what foul trickery he’d used to get the gods to bless him so. She wondered what she had done for the gods to punish her so. 

If it had been to another bastard, or even a minor northern or Dornish house, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But no, he was bound to Margaery Tyrell of all people. That poor girl, the gods were cruel indeed. It should’ve been her Robb she was bound to. Aside from the Princess, Margaery was the most eligible maiden in the kingdom! That was it! Surely the gods will bind Robb and the Princess Myrcella! Let’s see the boys smug face then! Even better would be if they marked Sansa and Prince Joffrey! They were already betrothed of course but no one could deny her and her daughter’s worth if they were marked as well. She’d need to go to the sept as soon as she’d greeted her father and brother and gotten Bran and Rickon in their rooms. And kennelled those beasts of theirs.

She hadn’t wanted to let them come but all of her children and Ned had argued and she’d finally given in. Rickon’s scared her, though nothing like that monstrous albino Snow has, it watched her, it’d even bared its teeth at her!  
“Mother, look!”

She looked to where Rickon was pointing and saw those creatures were playing in the water. She felt embarrassed, what would these people think of them? They had to seem barbarians to command such beasts.

“Yes, yes, I see Rickon. Both of you, straighten up your clothes, we’re almost in the courtyard and I’m sure my Lord Father and brother are awaiting us there with the whole household.”

When they finally pulled in she realised with some pique that she was only partly right, for there stood her little brother, but only some of the household. Her father was nowhere to be found. That stung, surely she warranted his presence here? She supposed she’d find out soon enough.

“Sister, nephews, welcome to Riverrun,” her brother greeted, coming forward to kiss her on both cheeks. “It’s good to have you home Cat, despite the circumstances.” Then he whispered in her ear, “Father is ill, or he’d have welcomed you himself. We’ll get the boys settled then go see him.”

Her face turned red in both anger and shame at the reminder of 'the circumstances', but she nodded and smiled politely. Then the comment about her father struck and all she felt was worried. Her smile almost slipped but she held onto it. Courtesy was a lady’s armor and she was nothing if not a lady.

“Of course, brother. It’s good to see you and be back in Riverrun once again. Perhaps we could get the boys settled? It’s been a long trip and they’re quite young and need food and rest.”

Both boys groaned, until they saw her stern look. The bastard must be rubbing off on them, teaching them to behave poorly. It was the only explanation. She hurried them along, following after her little brother.

It was striking how much Robb resembled Edmure. He was her pride and joy, everything a lord should be. Robb that is, Edmure from all accounts was young, with a soft heart and wild ways. He needed to marry, he needed to start acting responsibly. There’d be time to speak to both he and father about that. Her father wasn’t getting any younger and was apparently unwell on top of it.

With all that was going on they’d need a strong lord in the Riverlands. Her Robb would need a good ally against the bastard and his rose. She’d need to make certain Lysa was aware of the situation and onside as well. The North could be difficult, but surely they’d not support a bastard born of a whore over her son. 

Even though the North wasn’t as knowledgeable about bastards as they were in the civilised part of Westeros, they did know some. Him looking a Stark and having the Reach wouldn’t be enough. King Robert would surely side with them as well. 

That thought calmed her some, the Westerlands, Stormlands, Vale and Riverlands would destroy any force brought to usurp her son. It almost made her feel silly for her fears, but bastards were tricksy creatures and their stranglehold wouldn’t release. 

………

After settling the boys Cat strode down the sunny halls of Riverrun, heading for her father’s rooms. The maester had come to inform her of where he was, and of his status. It was not good, he had at best a year left to live and it seemed his mind would deteriorate completely before then. 

She arrived at his room in a beautiful gown of blue and red, with trouts embroidered on the skirts. It was so wonderful to not wear the boring, practical clothes of the North, to style her hair in the southron fashion instead of the simple braids preferred in that backwards place. Her brother was already there and opened the door for her to enter. 

Her father looked so small. He had always been a large, strong man and now here was Lord Hoster Tully looking weak and pale. The room was cool yet sweat was beading on his forehead. The entire room reeked of sick and it was hard to not show her distaste. She stifled it and ran to his side, grasping his shaking hands in hers.

“Oh father! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come sooner,” she cried.

“You shouldn’t have come at all. How could leave the north at a time like this? Your son needs you, his future as Warden depends on it. Though mayhap it’s best you did. You’ve been entirely ineffectual anyway. He’s still as close with that bastard as ever is he not?”

Catelyn gulped and started shaking herself, in anger or shame, she wasn’t quite sure. “Father, I tried. Only Sansa would listen to me. The north isn’t as knowledgeable about bastards as we are here and Ned would never let me do too much.”

Her eyes turned pleading, “But that’s why I’ve come Father, I need your help. What are we going to do? He’ll have the might of the Reach and the northern lords love him.”

Edmure interjected then, “Cat, be reasonable. You sound completely mad. He’s a bastard, even with the Reach no one will support him over Robb. Surely, the northern lords love Robb as well?”

Mad? She sounded mad? He was weak and naive, just as she feared and now father was dying and he wouldn’t be capable of helping her. 

“I’m not mad. Of course they love Robb, but I hear their comments. They all notice that the boy is the only one of Ned’s sons that looks a Stark. He’s the only one that solely worships the Old Gods. Can you believe it? They grumble about their future lord because he also worships the true religion and not only trees!” She shrieked.

Hoster’s voice was more powerful than she would’ve imagined. “ENOUGH! Did you learn nothing from me? Are you an idiotic zealot now, Cat? You are Lady of the North, you should’ve appeared to assimilate! Now my grandchildren are threatened because they aren’t northern enough. With their looks you should’ve done all you could to make sure there were no other doubts of them being of the First Men. But you didn’t and now here we are.”

He took a deep breath and started coughing and Catelyn was scared. Oh gods what if she’d worked him up so much it killed him? It would be all that bastard’s fault! She was relieved when he stopped as quickly as he’d started, less so when he started in again. 

“No matter. What’s done is done. Edmure please go see the maester, I’d like him to attend me after we’re done here and I’d like words with your sister alone.”

Edmure bowed and hurried out. Catelyn stood up and took a seat on the plush chair next to her father’s bed, smoothing her skirts before looking at him again. Even sick he still made her feel a child. How had all of this strength and intelligence skipped Edmure? Perhaps it all went to her, the gods knew Lysa never had any to start with.

“Catelyn, I worry for what will happen when I die. Edmure will not be able to help you in this and your fears are my own.”

Catelyn smiled then, she wanted to rub the words in Edmure’s face. Her fear wasn’t mad it was practical. She listened on in excitement and a hint of fear as her father explained his plan.

……

Hoster

…….

Hoster had been furious when he’d found out that the shame of his House had been gifted by the gods with a Soulmark, and his rage had turned apoplectic when he’d learned it was to Margaery of House Tyrell. 

He was dying he knew, and he also knew his mind was weakening each day. So he’d started to plan with no time to waste. Edmure was too naive, his hold on the Riverlands would be too weak. Cat would get no help from him. He’d not heard from Lysa since he’d done her the favor of killing that worm Littelefinger’s bastard inside her, and married her off to Jon Arryn. His brother didn’t write him much, but Brynden did let him know that she’d come back to the Eyrie after her husband’s death half mad. And that her son was sickly, weak and still drank from his rotten, ungrateful daughter’s teat. Cat would have no help from her either. 

Cat was his favourite child. The wittiest, the smartest and the most noble. That wasn’t saying all that much, he’d admit and she did think she was smarter than she was but she wasn’t a complete moron. He’d never liked the idea of the bastard either, even less so with him being the whelp of Ashara Dayne, with his legendary uncle at his side. Least of all because he’d had the nerve to raise the mutt with Hoster’s trueborn grandchildren. He had however, assumed Catelyn’s fear of the boy was excessive.

He could admit he was wrong, it appeared the boy a greater threat than Hoster could’ve imagined. The Tyrells were upjumped stewards themselves and always grasping, even if the bastard didn’t start out wanting to usurp Robb, they’d convince him to. A little voice in the back of his mind told him he was being paranoid, that he’d let Cat’s letters influence him and that his illness was making it worse. He paid it no mind. He’d leave his house strong and however his plan went, he’d be dead soon and the only one to suffer for it.

…..

His Little Cat looked beautiful as always. Her hair bright like fire and eyes as blue as one of the rivers below. He wished he could spend this time with her catching up, but he was a Lord Paramount and he’d not let sentimentality rule him.

Once he’d sent Edmure from the room he’d explained his plan to Catelyn. She seemed delighted but with a heavy undercurrent of fear.

“I… Father, he is soulmarked. Any who interfere will suffer the gods’ wrath. Would that we could do this but the risk is too great and if Ned ever found out… I fear what would become of me.”

He would have to explain it to her completely then. He sighed, he was so tired and needed sleep badly. It would have to wait.

“His gods, the Seven that are One would never mark such a treacherous creature. No, if we do this we would be doing our gods’, the true gods and not some savage trees, work. They would protect us Little Cat. And if they don’t, I am not long for this world anyway. I’d be the only one to suffer for it. Well, and whoever carries out the deed. We’ll just have to find someone desperate enough and promise to take care of their family should the worst happen.” 

He reached out, trying to find his water but it wasn’t were it should be. Catelyn understood however and stood and walked to the little table and filled his cup with cool lemon water. 

He took a nice long drink before continuing, “As for Ned Stark, he’ll never know of your involvement. He’ll likely never know of mine, he’s too blinded by honour to see that others do not keep to it the same as he. If he does learn of my part in this, well, I’ll be dead soon. Edmure has true deniability and you’re his wife. He cannot believe you’d kill his son, could he?”

She looked thoughtful, and then smiled. “We should’ve done this long ago, before he was marked. I didn’t think anyone would go along with it however. Alright father. Do what must be done, please make certain my children will not be caught up in this. Just the bastard.”

He’d never known his daughter was so ruthless. Just as well.

Catelyn gave him a kiss before leaving the room, skirts swirling around her. Maester Vyman came in after her. The man looked more exhausted than Hoster felt. He knew it wasn’t illness weighing on him.

“We’re going ahead with the plan Vyman. Make sure it looks like an accident and is done somewhere my grandchildren won’t be hurt in it. I’ll leave the rest up to him.”

“My Lord, I have to again advise you against this. Not only is it dishonourable but the gods… the gods will be—“

“Enough,” he calmly interjected. “I’ve heard quite enough about the gods. His savage gods are the ones that did this. The Seven are certainly with us. You can aid me, or I’ll find someone who will and you’ll remain in the dungeons until the deed is done.”

Vyman swallowed, his face white in fear. “As you say, my lord. It will be done.”

“See to it that it is, and come to me with any status update.”

…….

What Hoster, Catelyn and all involved had forgotten was that Jon Stark wouldn’t be the only one who would die. His marked, Margaery Tyrell would as well, and Roses have thorns.

A sennight later a desperate man from the village was gone, a fortnight later so was the maester and one of the ravens to Winterfell as well.

And the gods were watching.

……

Catelyn

………

A little over a sennight after the maester had disappeared Catelyn received a raven from her Ned. They'd had sent for a replacement for Vyman the day after he'd abandoned his duty. He'd no arrived yet, but he'd used a little village boy to help with the birds and between him and the steward they were able to handle it for the nonce.

Her hands were shaking as she opened it. Does he know? No, he can't know or he'd not just send a letter. 

Reassured, she unrolled it and began to read. What she read was wonderful and proved the Seven were truly on their side and agreed with their plan in regards to the bastard.

Dearest Cat,

I hope this letter finds you and our sons well. I'm sorry to hear of your father, please give him my best for me. 

All the guests have arrived and the wedding will be the day after tomorrow. They'll stay in Winterfell for three more days after that before heading back to Highgarden. 

If you wanted to leave in a sennight, I think it would be best. Though if you'd like to stay a bit longer, I understand and you're welcome to leave in a fortnight instead. 

I'm writing to you mainly to tell you wonderful news! 

Our Sansa has been blessed and marked by the gods! It only just happened. She fell down in pain whilst we were greeting our latest guests. When we took her to Luwin, there was a mark covering her forearm. 

She has asked to be able to tell you all the details herself and I will honour her wishes in this. It is not my place to discuss her Soulmark.

I will be happy to have Winterfell returned to normal and you and the boys returned to me. I am so blessed in my family. 

I look forward to seeing you again, soon. 

With Love,

Eddard Stark  
Lord of Winterfell  
Warden of the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Shorter chapter and it spans a good bit of time. I hope you enjoyed it and will have the next chapter hopefully by next Sunday. 
> 
> It'll likely be "The Daughters of the Quiet Wolf" but it could be Jae and Margaery or all of them! I'm not sure yet


	7. 7 Soulmarked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding at Moat Cailin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I'd hoped to have two chapters this week but was overly ambitious. From now on, plan for once a week, likely Sunday nights, though you will likely get random bonus chapters here and there.   
> I hope you enjoy! I really wanted to get this up asap so it's not completely edited, I'll come back and do so later.

Margaery

Margaery laid in her bed, trying to sleep before giving up and walking to look out of the window. The towers of Moat Cailin were so imposing, and looked beautiful in the moonlight. She was getting married tomorrow, the first of three weddings. At least she didn’t have to consummate it until the second ceremony at Winterfell, though she found herself a bit disappointed by that as well. She didn’t fully understand it, but ever since she’d met her soulbound her dreams had been filled with him. She wondered if he was dealing with the same issue and flushed at the thought.

She felt so much more from the mark now that they were in closer proximity. It was scary and thrilling and very confusing. Sometimes she didn’t know if what she was feeling was from Jaehaerys or herself. She’d not heard him in her head since the day prior and she hoped he hasn’t heard her since then too. Her thoughts weren’t something she would want anyone to know or have unlimited access to. She didn’t want all of his thoughts either. It was too invasive.

Though it would be nice to know sometimes. He was so often quiet, had the same air of melancholy she had heard his father was prone to. It was difficult to get a read on him, easier if she could see his eyes. While the rest of his face was often unreadable, his eyes gave him away.

Her cheeks warmed, thinking of the way he looks at her. He looked at her like she was precious, he looked impressed and sometimes she could also feel his confusion and doubt down the bond, like he didn’t think he deserved her. He didn’t say much about it but she could tell that his uncle’s lie and his upbringing had a negative impact on him. The thought of it made her furious. She would never forgive Ned Stark or Catelyn Tully. From what little she’d learned through Princesses Lyanna and Rhaenys, neither deserved the Stark name. She was not usually a vindicative person but she hoped that when Jaehaerys took the throne he’d be able to dismiss him as the Warden of the North, make him a lord in name only. She understood it would be difficult but that man could not continue ruling the largest kingdom. Margaery knew that being king wasn’t what Jae wanted right now, she also knew pushing him would only reinforce that opinion. She also knew that he would come around eventually. The other options were no options at all, he was intelligent, he’d come to see that in time.

They hadn’t gotten much time alone and were always chaperoned, which made their interactions more awkward than being bound to someone you didn’t know and had only met recently. There was nothing for it though, they wouldn’t be alone together until after they were truly wedded and bedded. It was a bit silly, with their marks they were bound even more tightly than couples that had been married for decades. Their union considered more sacrosanct than any other relationship, even the king and queen. They spent time together when they could however, and from those interactions she’d been coming to truly like him.

Earlier that day they’d taken a walk in the godswood, Garlan trailing behind them. She’d been shocked into silence by the sight of the heart tree. She stood staring at it’s wrathful face. The bark was the white of bones, of death; the sap leaking from the eyes and forming the face was like blood, making the visage even more unnerving. Jae hadn’t hesitated and if he felt her reluctance, he gave no sign of it as he walked right up. Bending onto his knees in front of the tree, dirtying his fine black trousers underneath. He placed his hand on the bark and dropped his head in prayer. She wondered what he was praying for. She felt his reverence, resentment, gratitude, hope and fear swirling through her from the bond. She closed her own eyes and tried to block it out, it took almost the same amount of time as his prayer but she succeeded.

“I’m sorry it makes you so uncomfortable, my lady. If you don’t find it agreeable we can figure something else out. My mother has decided to join us in Winterfell under a disguise and while I’d like to have my sister there and to use my real name in one ceremony, I’d understand.” His eyes looked pained, but she believed he was telling the truth.

She smiled slightly at him, this thoughtful groom of hers, then declined his offer, “No, Jaehaerys. It took me by surprise is all. We have the Three Sisters in Highgarden but I rarely see them and they are not quite so fearsome as this. I’d be happy to wed you here. We’ll be wedding at the one in Winterfell in any case. Might as well get used to it.”

His warm hand engulfed hers, before he placed a gentle kiss upon it. His lips soft and warm. “Thank you, my lady. It means so much to me to be able to do this. A chance to be myself...Though I’m quite confused as to who I am at the moment.” He downplayed his last statement with a chuckle, but Margaery could see right through it.

“Margaery, please call me Margaery. I’ve asked you before and if I’m allowed to call you Jae, I must insist you use my name as well!”

He smiled, eyes sparkling. “Of course, Margaery. I do like it when you call my name, I won’t deny you the same pleasure.” 

It took him longer than her to realise the implication of what he said and both of them blushed furiously. Margaery descended into a fit of giggles, tears leaking from her eyes. She even heard Garlan snort from behind them.

“I...I didn’t mean it like,” he stuttered out.

She reassured him with a hand on his arm. “I know you didn’t. It’s quite alright, Jaehaerys.”

The rest of their walk was mild in comparison. Though she couldn’t deny that the implication of what he’d said had stuck with her. Just thinking of it made blood rush to her cheeks and ears. She was still nervous about the bedding to come but there was more anticipation as well.

……

The next morning she broke her fast with her grandmother and mother in the common room that connected her and her grandmother’s chambers. Cheeses, poached eggs, bacon, strawberries with sugar, and some milk with honey. Margaery couldn’t eat as much as she usually did. Her stomach was all a flutter. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. This was essentially a practice ceremony, their marriage wouldn’t be truly valid until consummation and that was a little over a sennight away.

She was nervous regardless, emotions weren’t always rational she knew, but she was usually better at controlling them.

After they ate she called in Mira Forrester to help her dress for the ceremony. She was so glad to have had Mira as a lady-in-waiting when her mark came in. The Northern girl had told her much about the largest kingdom and as much about her soulmarked and his family as she knew. She’d known quite a bit about the Starks, less of the Bastard of Winterfell.

She’d told her that all she’d heard of him had been positive, aside from being a bit sullen. Apparently the northern lords didn’t blame him for that sullenness, and instead resented the Lady Stark for treating him so poorly. There was even grumbling about Lord Stark allowing such treatment. No matter his birth, to him Jae was a direwolf, a northman, a Stark in all but name. They didn’t take kindly to some prissy southron fish treating one of their own, a son of their beloved Starks as if he was lower than the lowest criminal.

According to Mira, it was well known that he was made to sit in the back of the dining hall, not allowed at the table with his siblings. That hadn’t surprised Margaery. She couldn’t imagine a southron lord seating his bastard at the high table, especially with guests present. But that was the South and in the North bastards were generally treated better. None of the lords would’ve been insulted to have Jon Snow in their presence. That was the tamest of the Lady of Winterfell against Margaery’s marked, no one expected her to love him, they did expect her to simply ignore him. Instead she went out of her way to make his life one of her seven hells. And it had started when he was nothing but a babe, kicking his wetnurse out of the north and limiting the replacement’s abilities to care for him beyond basic needs

Lord Forrester himself had once complained about how the boy was like a ghost when he visited Winterfell. That once his son Asher had wanted to spar with him but the boy had practically run away saying how ‘it wouldn’t be proper’, they would’ve chalked it up to cowardice if they hadn’t looked up and seen Lady Stark standing on a balcony, watching the yard with a sneer on her face.

Ned Stark’s rule in the North was not as peaceful or supported as one would think, considering how well loved the Starks are in the north. Her grandmother had told Marge that the Northmen had not fought for Robert, had not bled to put him on the throne. Most were insulted by his behaviour on campaign. How he’d proclaim his love for his Lady Lyanna and the next breath he’d be inside another tent and another camp follower. She’d learn from listening in on one of Lord Tarly’s conversations at a feast that after his loss and injury at Ashford, Robert had gone to the Stoney Sept to have his wound treated and lie low. He’d apparently hidden in a whore house basement, fornicating while Jon Connington searched for him before coming out of hiding when Ned Stark and the rebel army arrived. 

They fought for Lord Rickard, Lord Brandon and the Lady Lyanna’s freedom. The northmen didn’t appreciate Baratheon, Arryn and Tully using their liege’s suffering to seize the crown. They didn’t like them changing the narrative, making the war a love song instead of justice and tyranny. They liked it even less when babes were butchered and their mother raped and murdered along with them. They were sickened, as Ned Stark was reported to be by those heinous crimes going unpunished. Unlike Lord Stark, they’d never forgotten nor forgiven Robert, Jon Arryn or Tywin Lannister and his mad dogs.

Margaery wondered how they would feel if they found out the truth. Would they resent Lyanna and her son or would they support them? It was something to think about, whether Jae wanted the throne or not, it was wise to plan for any contingency. She thought most would eventually support him. If only to have a northman on the throne.

Mira came in the room, following Margaery into her bedroom. She immediately went over to the little shelf where her hair oils were.

“Should we do your hair first, my lady?” She asked, still fiddling with the oils, combs and pins. Her own brown hair was plaited in the northern style, she’d stopped using the elaborate hairstyles of the south as soon as they’d crossed the Neck. It wasn’t really Mira’s job to do Margaery’s hair or dress her but she’d asked her to do so today and for the wedding in Winterfell. She’d wanted someone northern to prepare her for these ceremonies.

“That would be wonderful, thank you for doing this Mira. And please, why do I keep having to tell northerners to call me Margaery? I quite like how it sounds with a northern brogue but you’re all set to deny me the pleasure!” 

Mira laughed, “My apologies then, Margaery. I’ll be certain to call you such in private and I’ll stick with Lady Margaery in public. We’re just doing our best to show you we know our courtesies and aren’t the savages you southrons tend to name us.” Her tone was teasing, her green-grey eyes glinting.

“Of course! Well you’ve all done a fantastic job and please inform the others that there’s no need to put on airs. At least with me. My father practically needs it to live as much as he needs real air. Grandmother finds it as tedious as I do however, but also loathes disrespect. It’s hard to know which way to go with her at times.” Margaery sat in a chair facing a (thing that has mirror and is for makeup), with the light from the window falling on her nicely.

“Yes, well like you, Lady Olenna will speak her preferences. Though in a way that’s more painful than you. Best to start with all the courtesies with her and let her decide the tone.” 

“You’ve got the right of it, Mira, and she’d be the first to agree with you.” Margaery stopped, pursing her lips to think for a moment. “Why don’t we try to combine the styles? Or at least tone down the southron hairstyles, I don’t think it’d look right in the godswood, we can save the extravagant ones for the wedding in Highgarden.”

“Of course, I have just the thing.”

They chatted while Mira brushed, oiled and braided her hair. She chose an oil smelling of Jasmine and lemon verbena. She often used a mixture of the golden roses of Highgarden and strawberries but wanted something different for today.

Margaery was very happy with Mira’s choice of hairstyles. She chose a braid that started on the left side, continuing it so it ended at the nape of her neck on the right side, letting the rest of her hair curl and cascade over her right shoulder. She’d placed hair pins intermittently throughout, each with a small diamond at the tip of it. 

It was a bit more extravagant than she’d learned was the norm here, but Margaery was a lady of the Reach and she’d not completely abandon that. Best for them to know that, while also respecting the northern way.

She usually didn’t use any cosmetics but for such an event she’d use a bit. Still sitting at the vanity she took her time, she dabbed a mixture of beeswax on her fingers, using them to lightly coat her eyelashes in it, making them look longer, fuller and darker. Next up was a few dabs of a peachy mixture made from berries and roots, that gave just the slightest bit of color to her lips and another that gave her cheeks a rosy glow. Too much was considered in bad taste and wanton, she preferred to make it look as natural as possible.

When she finished, she was very pleased with her efforts. She looked natural, and like herself just a bit lovelier. Mira agreed, “You look so very lovely, Margaery. You always do but just brighter. He’ll be speechless! I bet you a silver stag his mouth drops open.”

She smiled widely, “I’ll take that bet, though I do hope I lose. Also, thank you. You look lovely yourself. Now, just help me get this dress on and it should be time to head to the godswood. Can you remind me of the ceremony just one more time?”

She knew it but was concerned everything would rush out of her brain when she was standing in front of everyone. Being prepared was one of the most important tools of success for any event, any plan, any action at all really. It was one of her grandmother’s most important lessons. That, and to allow people to underestimate you.

She stepped into her dress and looked at herself in the mirror while Mira hooked her into it. It was truly beautiful, she’d planned to wear it to one the feasts at Winterfell but decided it would be best for today. The bodice and outer skirts were light green brocade, stitched with golden thread and embroidered with golden roses along the hem, neckline and waist. The inner skirts were a soft yellow wool. The slippers were gold as well, a light gold and soft and supple.

All that was left to put on was her maiden cloak. It was the only article of clothing she wore that would be donned for all three ceremonies. It was beautiful, Tyell green with a large rose made of cloth of gold covering the wide expanse of fabric. Darker green thread and velvet was used to make the leaves, and vines with thorns were placed all along the hem and sides. Her mother entered the room to place it around her, gushing about how beautiful Margaery was before kissing her forehead and excusing herself to rush to her place in the godswood. Once she left Margaery took one more sip of lemon water and one bite of strawberry, it’d give her lips a bit more tint and sweeten her breath, once that was done she steeled herself and exited her room to find her waiting father.

She was surprised to see Princess Rhaenys standing there with him. That had been a huge shock. To learn Rhaenys still lived, more shocking than the very much living and breathing Ashara Dayne and the existence of the true heir to the north. She was beyond happy for Jaehaerys, that he still had pieces of his father’s family, that he still had one true sibling. She was happy Rhaenys hadn’t suffered such a tragic fate. She was also more than a little disturbed that another little girl had died in her place. Unknown, unmourned. It was heartbreaking. She hated it but she couldn’t lie and say she’d not do the same if it was her own future children. She knew they didn’t plan for her to die. She also knew they didn’t think it an unlikely outcome.

Shaking herself to dislodge the thoughts she looked to what the princess was holding and felt her breath catch.

“Is...is that a crown of winter roses? Is it for me?”

Rhaenys smiled, “It is. Jae asked me to make it for you. It’d be in bad taste to wear it at Winterfell, unfortunately but here it will be seen as the loving gesture it is.”

Rhaenys stepped towards her, her dress was in the Dornish style, robe like, but fit for the colds of the north. “Here, may I?” she asked, lifting the crown up in question. Her eyes really were just like Jae’s, though his sister’s were more often playful, both had an inner fire, her marked’s was just more deeply buried.

“Of course,” Margaery replied, bending her knees and bowing her head forward so her soon to be good-sister could place the beautiful crown on her head.

“Here, we’ll just go back into your room for a minute. You should get to see how beautiful you look, a new Queen of Love and Beauty. Let Jae sweat for a minute or two.” Princess Rhaenys enjoyed teasing her newly returned little brother, japed that they had so much time to make up for.

They entered the room and she didn’t think any crown could ever compare to this one. She walked to her wedding on her father’s arm and a beaming smile on her face.

…..

Jaehaerys  
……

Every thought left his head as Margaery walked into the godswood, his anxiety fled with them. She had to be the most beautiful woman in the entire world and she was his and he was hers. Not just in the normal way that husbands and wives belong to each other either. The gods themselves had decreed it, had bound them as one before they’d ever even known the other existed, let alone set eyes on each other. 

Her chestnut hair was braided away from her face, highlighting her high, rounded cheekbones. Her eyes looked like warm honey under her dark eyelashes and arched eyebrows and her full, heart shaped lips looked pink and inviting. He should really stop staring at her mouth but it’s better than looking further down at least.

And just like that he was looking further down. The dress was elegant but tasteful and it showcased how tiny her waist was while seeming to emphasis that she is very much a woman grown. He’d seen her before, he didn’t know why he was so blown away but he was. The ice blue winter roses on top of her brow cast this fey sort of magic over her. She was incredible. She was a Queen. And oh gods he did not want to think about that right now. 

He closed his eyes for one moment, inhaled, in and out, in and out and then he opened his eyes and she was there, in front of him, her arm tucked into her father’s and how did he not even notice Lord Tyrell until just this moment? And then Uncle Benjen was speaking and suddenly Jae was able to reign in his thoughts. He realised he hadn’t just been dealing with his own nerves but hers as well. She must’ve noticed sooner and clamped down on the bond. He was ridiculously impressed she’d been able to walk feeling all of that. He quickly turned his attention to his uncle and caught the end of his question.

“...comes before the Old Gods?”

Mace Tyrell puffed up, stating loudly, “Margaery of House Tyrell comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim here?”

Jae had to hand it to the man, he’d remember the words he’d no doubt learned very recently. And now it was his turn.  
“I do. Jaehaerys of the House Targaryen.” He paused, this was the part he’d dreaded. But he, his mother and sister had reached a compromise and Jae wouldn’t insult his family living or dead by denying this. “True Heir to the Iron Throne. Who gives her?”

He looked into the crowd and saw his mother with tears in her eyes, holding a proud looking Rhaenys’ hand. Lady Olenna’s lip curved in a satisfaction and while Jaehaerys didn’t know what a pufferfish looked like but had to agree that Mace likely did look akin to one. It was Margaery that he could not look away from though. Her eyes warm, understanding. He thought it likely that she was the only one here who truly understood how he felt and all without having explained it to her. It was so queer to be known so well by a person that barely knew him at all, as queer as it felt to know her so well, when he’d met her days ago. Her really needed to finish reading those books Maester Aemon gave him.

Margaery’s father answered proudly, “Lord Mace of House Tyrell, Warden of the South, who is her father and protector.”

“Lady Margaery,” Uncle Benjen said softly, “do you take this man?”

Margaery kept her doe eyes on him, she looked directly into his own as she said, “I take this man.”

Lord Tyrell unwound his arm with hers, giving her hand one last squeeze before she turned around and took the beautiful green and gold maiden cloak from her back. Jae stepped forward, gently enveloping her in the black silk maiden cloak, the rubies making up the three headed dragon shone in the sunlight. He lingered a bit longer than necessary but touching her was so calming, it grounded him and her hair smelled exotic and familiar, enticing. It was the only ceremony he could cloak her under the protection of his true house and he wanted to savour it. 

When he was finished she turned back to face him, so close he could feel her breath as she looked up at him, it was as sweet as the honey her eyes took after. Her hand was warm and small in his own and he felt that same rush of electricity he’d felt the first time they met. He let one of her hands slip from his and they turned and knelt before the weirwood. Jae bowed his head and prayed, her right hand clasped firmly in his left. He prayed for a long and happy marriage, healthy children. Then he thanked the gods for his wife. His wife! She was beautiful and dangerously smart, funny and kind and she was his wife. 

He stood and she rose with him, they turned towards each other and he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her lush mouth. He pulled away quickly, she stayed with her head angled towards his for a moment longer. Seems he wasn’t the only one that didn’t want it to end. He’d known if her lips on his for one more beat, he wouldn’t have stopped until she pulled away from him and that would be unseemly and disrespectful. He also didn’t want to be run through by Loras, or worse, Garlan.

‘My wife’ he thought to himself, overwhelmed with how blessed he was, with how full his heart felt and how many people were clapping while his lips touched hers. 

And down the bond he could hear as clear as crystal, ‘My husband’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Next up The Daughters of Winterfell!
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested in beta-ing, let me know in the comments. I could really use a bit of help!


	8. Daughters of Winterfell Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The daughters of Winterfell have important conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter grew a lot in the telling. I’ve decided to split it in two. Don’t fear, the second half will be posted tomorrow. I’ve already finished Arya, half of Sansa and Lyanna will be shorter. I hope you enjoy!

Arya  
……..

Sneaking back into her room after running out on Septa Mordane was a common occurrence for Arya Stark. This time she’d chosen to hide in the stables instead of listening to even one more vile word out of that hateful woman’s mouth. She was usually able to make it back and change into something cleaner before she was called before her mother, or worse, her father but today she’d have no such luck. Before she’d even turned the corner she could hear her sister and Jeyne Poole’s mocking voices.

“Poor Margaery, I know it’s an honour to be Marked and technically my half brother is no longer a bastard... but still, I know it would bother me. Especially with how sullen he is all the time. Though I do hope I can go to the wedding in Highgarden before returning to the capital. Can you imagine?” Sansa’s high voice rang out and Arya felt her temper rising.

Then Jeyne haughtily said that if the Gods had chosen anyone it should’ve been Sansa, she was by far the most pious. Before she knew what she was doing Arya was standing in front of them both, covered in hay and smelling of horse as she said, “Anyone would be lucky to have our brother, Jon is the best of men. He’s also a thousand times better than you’re stupid, poncy prince!”

Sansa’s face reddened and Jeyne mumbled something about ‘horseface’. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you’re more like our bastard brother than a lady yourself. If only you could’ve gone with him to the Wall.”

Now it was Arya’s turn and blood rushed to her face and ears. “I’d rather be like Jon than anything like you. I’d rather be at the Wall with him than the Red Keep with you too, you stupid! And Jon’s not a bastard! He’s Jon Stark now!”

“Maybe if you were more of a lady Jon would take you with him to Highgarden. But he wouldn’t take a half feral beast to the heart of chivalry.” Sansa took a breath, a thoughtful look on her face. “Actually, seeing as how he’s still little more than a bastard, mayhap he would, but I doubt his Marked would let him bring you, horseface.” Her sister sniffed loudly, grabbed Jeyne’s arm and walked away, still whispering and laughing.

Arya ran into her room, tears spilling over from her eyes. Sansa was wrong, Jon would take her with him if she asked and not just for the stupid sept wedding. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it, that it’d taken Sansa of all people to figure it out. Arya hoped fervently that this Tyrell girl wasn’t an empty headed lady or mean like Sansa was. Both for her brother’s sake, and her own. She’d need to convince both her and Jon in order to go with him, and then convince her father. Her mother would object because of Jon, but she couldn’t say she’d not want a child of hers fostered with the Tyrells. Anyway, she’d have to do this all before her mother returned so it didn’t matter what Catelyn Stark thought.

It hurt Arya how much happier she’d been since her mother had left Winterfell in a cold fury. She loved Lady Catelyn, she was her mother. But it was hard, Arya couldn’t seem to please her no matter what she did. Arya tried, she really tried but whenever she did it was never enough. When she tried to do her stitches well her efforts were derided by the septa and compared to perfect Sansa’s. It was enough to make Arya’s eyes burn but she didn’t want to give them the pleasure of her tears, so she’d say something rude and run away. It never mattered to her mother that it was the septa’s fault or that Sansa started it. And she’d been too scared to go to her father and find him the same.

She didn’t think he’d be as bad, and she didn’t think he cared as much that she wasn’t a lady like Sansa. He’d smile sometimes, when he caught her and Bran in the Godswood playing swords with sticks. He never yelled or punished her harshly. Though he never intervened on any of his wife’s chastising or punishments either. He’d never sent Septa Mordane away, though he’d seen the septa say horrible things to Arya, even though he knew the sorts of things she said about Jon. Arya wished her mother had taken that old bat with her the Riverrun as well. A small part of her had hoped they’d both go and never come back. They hated the North! It’s kinder of Arya to hope they stay South. It’s for their own happiness.

Arya shook her head, she needed to get dressed in something clean, the Manderly’s and the Mormont’s were arriving today and she shivered to imagine what the septa would do if she showed up in the yard muddy with her hair a bird’s nest, complete with hay. She could do that. She could be clean and act more ladylike, she’d be good and then Jon and his Marked wife would want to take her to Highgarden. She could. Jon would want to take her, he would. Jon was the only person she’d ever known that chose Arya over Sansa, she wouldn’t let him leave her behind again.

…….

Sansa

…….

Sansa had only ever been more excited when the royal family had come to visit. She felt like she was living in a song. She was going to marry the prince and be queen one day, and now the first Soulmark in almost two hundred years was in her family. It would bring so much prestige to her house, even if Jon was the one to have it. And his Marked is a Tyrell! The ruling family of the heart of chivalry. Everyone knows the Reach is filled with knights and beautiful maidens, that it’s the place of songs. All she’d seen of the Tyrell’s since they arrived had done nothing to dissuade her of that notion. She was so excited to meet them she’d been almost shaking when they greeted them in the yard.

They were the loveliest people she had ever seen, aside from herself and her mother, of course. Ser Loras was the most beautiful man in all the kingdoms, even more so than Joffrey. But Joffrey was a prince and Loras just a third son, that’s what her mother would’ve said in any case. The one she really cared to meet had been Lady Margaery and she appeared to be everything Sansa had dreamed. If all the ladies in the south were as beautiful and gracious as Cersei and Margaery, Sansa would have to write her mother and tease that she should’ve been sent years ago.

Sansa felt her chest clench. She’d been devastated that her mother wouldn’t stay for the wedding. It wasn’t right, it was her home, she was the Lady of Winterfell! She could barely even politely say ‘hello’ to Jon when he’d arrived. Not after her mother had told her the reason she’d had to leave. Apparently, he’d sent a letter saying how her Lady Mother wasn’t invited to the ceremony and that he would shame House Stark by marrying outside of Winterfell if she remained. 

Sansa had begged her mother to make him do just that, even though she’d been greatly looking forward to the wedding itself. Plus, she was still a bit upset that she’d had to leave her Golden Prince. She comforted herself that she’d be seeing a wedding of Soulmarks, the bride a daughter of the Lord of the Reach. Her mother hadn’t listened to her though, she’d told Sansa how she wished to see her father and that she would be the bigger person here. That no matter that he’s now legitimate, he was born a bastard and such behaviour is in Jon’s nature.

She wasn’t sure of that though. Despite all the things her mother and septa had told her, she’d never actually seen Jon do anything worse than sulk. Maybe he didn’t have that nature at all. When he was born the gods had to have known they would mark him, so he was essentially trueborn at birth. That must be why her mother and septa had been so mistaken about him. Before now that was. Perhaps getting a Soulmark had made Jon believe he’s above his station. Even legitimate he was heir to nothing.

She’d tried to tell Arya what mother had claimed, partly to warn her and partly out of spite for Arya splashing dirty water on Sansa’s skirts. Her horsefaced little sister hadn’t listened, instead she’d called Sansa stupid for ever believing such an obvious lie. Well, she’d show Arya. She was on her way to speak with father now and he’d tell Arya the truth about her precious brother. Lady Margaery and the rest of the Reach nobles were refreshing and resting before the small feast to welcome them so she’d have time. It should’ve been a larger one, but father said they couldn’t be wasteful and would save that for the wedding feast instead. Oh how Sansa hoped the Tyrell’s brought a singer! If they did mayhap they’d have him play every night they’re here. If not the wedding was soon, the last of the lords would arrive tomorrow, she was not looking forward to seeing Lord Bolton again, he scared her with his ice pale eyes. The wedding was the next day. There’d be music at the wedding feast no doubt. 

In any case, Sansa was going to speak to her father. Ask him why he had allowed Jon to force his Lady Wife out of their home. Decided on her course Sansa set off across the warm halls to her father’s study. She had never been more glad for the hot spring water that was piped through them before, she’d designed and sewed many southron dresses for the capital and had taken to wearing them and they certainly were not designed with the cold in mind. Silks and linen were not near as warming as wool and furs. She thought she’d just go back to wearing the northern style, she’d been dismayed to see that the Reach ladies were wearing dresses more northern than not. It made her stick out like a sore thumb. She’d just have to make hybrid dresses of her own.

She reached her father’s door and hesitantly knocked. She wasn’t sure why but her stomach had started fluttering with nerves. She clenched her skirts in her fists to keep her hands from shaking. She wasn’t certain anymore that she wanted to know the answer to her question. What if mother lied? She hated the doubt she was feeling. Her mother was a pious lady, noble and gracious, Jon was a bastard, it was in his nature to covet, manipulate and lie. But a voice inside her disagreed, reminding her that Jon isn’t a bastard anymore. That he was Marked by the gods themselves, they’d blessed him and chosen him for greatness. Marked couples were practically revered by followers of the Gods, Old and New alike. How could they pick someone unworthy?

She was just about to turn and walk away when her father opened the door. She’d never seen him look so poor. He was sallow, with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was in disarray and his clothes looked rumpled. She wondered what was wrong with him. Maybe it was the stress of the wedding.

He greeted her warmly, as he always did but his voice sounded weary, “Sansa, sweetling. What are you doing here? Are you well?”

She bit her bottom lip, looking down. “May I come in, father? There’s something I need to ask you.” 

He opened the door wide, ushering her in before she’d even finished. “Of course, Sansa. It’ll need to be quick, there’s much I need to do. But I will always make time for you.”

Sansa smiled weakly at him and blurted it all out before she’d fully sat, “Why did you allow Jon to force mother out of her home? It’s not fair! She’s Lady of Winterfell! It doesn’t matter that Jon’s Soulmarked, isn’t him shaming her and you with his very presence enough?’

Her father reeled as if struck, his face turning red while his brows furrowed. “He is your blood and no longer a bastard. Jon does not shame anyone. It was not him who broke his vows.” An odd look crossed his face that she didn’t understand, but he continued too quickly for her to think more on it. “As for the rest, I must confess I have no knowledge of any such occurrence.”

“You don’t need to cover for him! Mother told me everything, I know about his letter,” her voice came out strong and steady but Sansa could feel her breathing quicken, dread slowly spreading through her stomach.

Lord Stark’s lips pressed into a line at that, his voice coming out hard, “And what, exactly did your mother tell you?”

She shouldn’t have done this. He was getting angry and she didn’t think it was directed at Jon. It was too late to stop now though. “Mother told me that Jon was the reason she had to leave or he’d not get married in Winterfell at all. I told her she should’ve stayed regardless but she said House Stark would be shamed horribly and lose standing if the Soulmarked son of it’s lord refused to wed here, “ she admitted.

Her father swore, something she’d never heard him do before, “Damn her. I knew she had no love for Jon but I didn’t realise she’d make up such a horrible lie.” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply a few times before addressing her directly, “Sansa, Jon did no such thing. He has never so much as spoken a word against your mother to me, let alone had the audacity to order her to leave Winterfell.”

She scrambled, trying to come up with some explanation. Some reason that father was mistaken. Because if her mother would lie about this, what other lies had she told Sansa?

“Father, mayhap you just didn’t see the letter?” She quickly seized the idea, “Yes, that’s it. It must’ve been sent directly to Mother and she didn’t show you so as not to hurt you.” 

Ned sighed, “And this letter was missed by Maester Luwin? No, Sansa. It’s not possible. Jon arrived at Moat Cailin too late to have been able to send a letter demanding anything by the time your mother decided she was leaving.” He stood, coming closer and placed his arm on her shoulder. “I do not know why your Lady Mother told you such a thing, but it is not true dearest.”

Sansa stood, and ran away as fast as she could. Faster than she’d run since she was little more than a babe. Faster than any lady would dare run, tears streaming down her face. Her mother had lied to her. Had lied to make sure Sansa hated Jon. Oh gods, how many other lies had she been told in order to distance her from her bastard brother?

She had loved Jon once, followed him around until she’d learned what a bastard was. Before that she’d not understood why her mother would grip her arm tightly and pull her away from him. Why she’d sneer and yell at him. All she knew was that he always made time for her. He’d play monsters and maidens with her, even when Robb wouldn’t. He’d even braided her hair and let her braid his! Could it be that she’d been wrong?

She finally arrived back in her room, throwing herself on her bed, snuggling into Lady’s side. If she was wrong, if her mother and the septa had lied to her all these years, then what had Sansa done? She sobbed harder, wondering if Jon would ever give her another chance. Wondering if she was as stupid as Arya always said.

………..

Lyanna

………..

It was cold in the crypts, and she felt even colder seeing her own tomb. She had been in the dark place for three quarters of an hour and was struggling to leave. It hurt more than she could bear to see the statues of her father and oldest brother. The shame and guilt were the worst parts and she almost believed the tear tracks down her cheeks would be permanently etched there. 

Benjen had followed her in a quarter of an hour ago, a quiet reassuring presence. He came up beside her, grabbing her hand. He softly told her, “It’s not your fault, Lya. Their deaths are not your fault. You have to know that”

She didn’t know that, actually. It had partly been her plan and it had gone so very wrong. They had planned it so carefully. They’d sent a rider north, as well as a raven. They’d sent a messenger to Riverrun to inform Brandon as well, yet he’d never received it. She was uncertain if her father had received his, or if he had simply received it too late. He’d have gone after Brandon no matter what. The truth of her ‘abduction’ didn’t matter much in the face of his son being captive of the Mad King.

As for Brandon, Rhaegar’s old squire Richard Lonmouth had sworn he’d given one letter to Lady Lysa Tully and put the other in Bran’s chambers. He’d have ridden directly to Bran but they weren’t sure where he was at the time and knew he’d be in Riverrun soon. The question was whether or not Lysa had acted of her own volition or been ordered to make sure her brother hadn’t seen either. Lyanna couldn’t imagine why the girl would’ve done so herself. Bran had never done anything to her. Someone had also told her brother that Rhaegar had kidnapped her. That wouldn’t have been the conclusion he’d jump to on his own. She believed it had to have been Hoster. Perhaps punishment for Bran marrying Ashara and shaming his daughter. Brandon was on his way to tell him at the time but it’s possible he found out before that.

None of that mattered to her conscience though, and the weight of her guilt often battled her grief over which would suffocate her first.

“Oh Ben. I can’t help but feel the way I do. I just wish they were still her so badly. Brandon should be Lord of Winterfell and Ashara it’s Lady. If they were the North wouldn’t be filled with such unrest. I can’t think of the last time the Starks were as mistrusted as we are now. Ned―” 

Lyanna cut off, hearing the door to the crypts open. Shit, she thought, I shouldn’t be down here. If anyone saw her down here all their plans would crumble. She’d used chamomile tea, honey and vinegar to lighten her hair, it looked a very light, almost blonde color, but that alone wouldn’t be enough if anyone paid her close attention. She couldn’t change her light grey eyes, nor her long face. Being in the crypts, a place only for Starks would shatter that disguise.

She quickly and quietly ducked behind her crypt, which sent chills racing up and down her spine, making her shiver. It was all for naught though. No sooner had she stepped into the shadows than she’d heard her brother call out to her.

“I know you’re down here. Which is just as reckless an action as I’ve come to expect of you. We need to speak, little sister.” Ned looked to Ben then, “Alone.”

Lyanna humpfed. “Do we really? As I see it, we have nothing left to speak on. You made your decision long ago. You made your decision the day you stole my trueborn son from me and named him your bastard. And Benjen can do as he will, he’s not a child anymore. Look at what ignoring him has already cost our family,” she said, gesturing to the crypts.

Ned sighed, coming to stand in front of their father’s statue. Lyanna moved in front of Brandon’s. “You know why I did that Lyanna. It’s what was best for Jon.”

Benjen made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, Lyanna spoke quickly before he could get a word in. “Don’t you dare say being raised as your bastard, raised under the hateful, abusive influence of your horrid wife was best for Jaehaerys. You have no right!” Her heart beat furiously in her chest, her nostrils flaring.

Ned sighed loudly, as if she was the one being unreasonable, as if she were an unruly child. “Lyanna, you cannot hope to make the boy king. Would you truly start a war for vengeance, for your own pride?”

Lyanna snorted, “Oh Ned, I don’t need to start a war. War is coming whether I will it or not. And yes, I do expect Jaehaerys to take his rightful place. Based on the Soulmark on his chest, the Gods are on our side.”

“What do you mean war is coming?” He looked genuinely confused, brows furrowed, head tilted to the side. Gods he truly knew nothing.

Benjen interjected then, his voice incredulous, “Gods, Ned! You cannot possibly be this ignorant. The South is in complete disarray. Even I know that, and I am not the Warden of the North.”

Lyanna continued where Ben left off, voicing her prior thoughts, “You truly do know nothing. The smallfolk are hungry and angry at ‘Their Graces’ lavish lifestyle, while they toil for scraps. The Red Keep is overflowing with Lannisters, you can’t spit without hitting a golden-headed, green-eyed, twit. And they treat the Smallfolk horridly, as if their animals, not humans. They people of King’s Landing would likely gift wrap Cersei’s head for us.” 

She paused, trying to decide what all to tell Ned. “The king and queen are often at odds. And let’s just say that the loyalist houses are unhappy and the Vale and Riverlands are not as secure as their Lord Paramounts would have you believe. Tywin rules the Westerland’s through fear and loyalty based on fear is a brittle thing. There’s more but I don’t trust you with that information, brother.”

“So, that’s it? You’re going for the throne? Is this was Jon wants, Lyanna? I can’t imagine the boy I raised being so selfish.”

That had hit its mark and Lyanna flinched before she could stop herself. “Yes, I’m aware of how you raised my son. I used to think you allowed your wife to beat him down in order to punish me. But that’s not the case is it? Or it’s at least not the sole reason. You let her dismantle my son’s sense of self worth and taught him your idiotic notions of honour, that you don’t even hold to I might add, so that Jae would never feel like he deserved his birthright. It’s also why you limited his lessons, is it not?”

Her brother turned his head away from her. She was not moved by his display of guilt. His guilt changed nothing. He’d known what he was doing to Jae and did it anyway. Mainly for his best friend but whether he’d admit it or not, she knew part of it was about punishing her and Rhaegar through their only child.

“That’s a lie. I have never intentionally hurt Jon and I’d never be so underhanded as to plot in such a devious manner.” He look at the ground. Lyanna didn’t buy it. She believed he believed that, but he believed a lot of things that weren’t true. “This isn’t what we need to discuss,” he deflected. “What are you going to do Lyanna? You, the Tyrell’s and Benjen won’t be enough to take down the North, Westerlands, Riverlands, Vale and Stormlands. I also doubt Dorne would aid you, they’ll sit it out most likely.”

She’d let him believe that. It could only help them to be underestimated. He seemed to forget Rhaenys was with them and supports her brother. She couldn’t believe the lords of the north would fight against her and her son. Not once the knew the truth of everything.

“You’re right, this isn’t what we need to discuss. You’ll remember me saying we had nothing to discuss at all.” Lyanna turned back to face Brandon’s likeness, how she wished he was here. “The only thing I’d like to know is whether or not you’ll be going to King’s Landing. Will you truly be Hand to the Usurper? You’d aid him in usurping your own blood?”

Her brother sighed again. It was hard to tell in the flickering torchlight but Lyanna thought he looked very pale, his eyes red from lack of sleep. She felt no sympathy for him or his situation. “I have to Lyanna. It’s my duty—”

“Your duty is to your family first. I don’t recall mother or any woman in our family giving birth to that drunkard,” Benjen growled.

Her and Benjen stood side by side, a united front against their elder brother. He was silent, his face reddening in anger. “He is my king, Lyanna. It would also look suspicious if I backed out now.” 

He changed tack once again. Moving on to the things he could blame her for. “Why do you hate him so? You’ve hated him since before you even met him. I curse the day Rhaegar seduced you, preyed upon you. He used you, all Robert ever did was love you. Gods know how undeserving you are of it.”

That made Lyanna laugh again. It was a hollow, mirthless thing. “Rhaegar never seduced me, Ned. He never preyed on me. He was kind to me, he saw me as I am and wanted to change nothing. He was everything your supposed brother is not. The idea that that man loved me is laughable. He did not know me.” 

She looked down, wringing her hands. She’d never told him this before, she’d never thought he’d believe her or care. She didn’t think he would now but she’d try. “The only person that ever tried to prey on me was Robert.”

Ned interjected with a noise of surprise and denial, trying to stop her but she would not be silenced. He’d never silence her again. She shushed him and continued on, “On the third night of the tourney I was walking back from the Godswood when Robert came across me. He pulled me to him roughly, told me I was his now. That we shouldn’t have to wait and he’d give me more pleasure then I’d ever felt before.” Tears welled in her eyes. She’d only ever told this story to Elia, not even Benjen had known and he looked stricken hearing it now. It was difficult to tell Ned, but she was glad Ben was with her.

“His breath reeked, bitter from stale ale and meat. He pushed me back into the woods. I kept telling him no, that this wasn’t right. But he laughed and said it was okay, he was the only one who’d know I wasn’t a maiden when we wed. I think he thought I was playing, trying to tease him, or he was just so unused to hearing ‘no’ that he didn’t hear it at all.”

She searched Ned’s face, trying to see how he was taking this. His face was deathly pale and he was so silent she might’ve mistaken him for a wight from Old Nan’s tales if his eyes weren’t still grey. “Your supposed brother pushed me against a tree and kissed me, shoved his tongue down my throat, ran his hands down my body. I tried to push him off but he was too strong. I finally bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. It stunned him into releasing me and I ran as fast as I could back to my tent.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I remember him having a cut and bruised lip but figured it was from some whore or a fight.” He looked genuinely troubled but the look was replaced quickly. “He was drunk Lya, he loved you, still loves you. He never would have done that sober.”

Lyanna curled her lip, practically snarling at him, “That is why I did not bother telling you. I knew you’d only defend him. Being drunk is no excuse, Ned. I was the maiden daughter of a Warden and he tried to rape me.”

Ned jerked back, as if she’d physically struck him. He stuttered, trying and failing to say anything. Lyanna waved her hand as if to dismiss the whole topic. “I see I was right. Keep deluding yourself, Ned. I have one piece of advice for you. Do not marry Sansa to that boy. Cancel the betrothal, think up any reason you can and keep that girl as far away from the Red Keep as possible.”

“Why would I do such a thing? Sansa will be queen, married into my best friend’s house, as you should’ve been.” 

Lyanna ignored his jab, trying her best to protect her niece. She could tell it was another losing battle but she couldn’t give in without doing everything she could to stop this. “Because that golden-haired shit is a monster, Ned. You had to have noticed how arrogant and cruel he is.”

Ned shook his head. “He’s just a boy, Lya. He’ll grow and become a fine man, I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t look sure. Ned, I am begging you. Sansa is too sweet, too naive. That place will eat her alive and that boy will carve her to make it all the more easy. Did you know that he once cut open a pregnant cat to get its kittens? He was so proud, Ned. So happy to have tortured and killed those poor creatures.” Varys had sent them a letter about that. There were more reasons to deny the betrothal but unfortunately she could not trust Ned with them. All she could do for him was hope Varys would be able to keep him alive and Sansa relatively safe.

“I’ll not cancel the betrothal. Sansa will blossom in the south, I’m sure of it. I expected better of you, Lyanna. To make up such a nasty lie about a young boy, all because you’re jealous it will be my child that will be addressed as ‘Your Grace’.”

That was the last straw. Lyanna lunged forward to strike him but Benjen grabbed her arm tightly. “He is not worth it, Lya.” He turned to their brother, his liege lord and spat. He hissed at their brother with more venom than Lyanna had thought he was capable of, “You are no brother of mine. Seems the only sibling I didn’t lose in the Usurper’s War was Lyanna. You’re dead to me, and you are no Stark, Eddard Baratheon .” Then he turned and left, giving Lyanna’s hand a reassuring squeeze. She’d find him later, they could sit in the broken tower drinking, it was their favourite spot to hide as children.

Ned’s face crumpled, his eyes trailing after their baby brother. By the time he turned back to her all emotion was wiped from his face. “I suppose I’m dead to you as well, Lyanna?”

She didn’t bother answering that. “You’re wrong about Joffrey, Ned. I hope you survive your folly and that Sansa isn’t the one to pay the price for it. I hope none of your children pay the price for your many follies. Remember what happened last time a Baratheon and Stark were betrothed.”

She started to walk away, with one last look to Brandon and Father, but this time Ned grabbed her arm. Lyanna ripped it away with all her strength. Indignation spreading through her like fire through tinder.

“Are you threatening my children, your own nieces and nephews?” 

“I’m not threatening them at all. I’m pointing out how your choices will affect them. Court and Joffrey will destroy sweet Sansa. As for the rest of them you’ve already upset the bannermen in numerous ways, Ned. And all that does is serve to hurt Robb’s posit―”

“You dare? You’re speaking of usurping Robb’s rightful place as heir with that boy!” He yelled, his face red with rage, the drop of wolfs blood he had rising to the fore.

“If you keep on the way you are, I wouldn’t have to do anything. Though how does it feel? Thinking of someone usurping your child. As you just mocked me over mine having such done to him, I find I feel little sympathy.” 

Lyanna twirled one of her curls around her finger, a thoughtful look on her face. “Though Alaric would not be usurping Robb, not truly. It’s you that usurped Alaric and plan to pass your son off as the heir without the Realm the wiser. The fact that the ‘Honourable Eddard Stark’ lied and stole the birthright of his elder brother’s trueborn son could destroy your family, could destroy the Starks in general.”

She took a step back, the rage on her brother’s face was such that she actually believed he would hit her.

“Ashara relinquished his claim when she named him ‘Dayne’, Winterfell is mine and Robb’s after me,” he said mulishly.

“That’s where you’re wrong. It was not Ashara’s decision to make. It is Alaric’s. You’re also wrong that I want that to happen. I hope the boys don’t become enemies, but if Alaric decides he wants it, you and Robb should step aside. Your son has a right to know the truth, but I know how fond you are of lying to children about their status and identities.” With that Lyanna finally stormed off, leaving her brother stunned silent in her wake.

She’d known he’d never side with them, but it still hurt. She’d just have to make due without him. She believed she could turn the North to their side, maybe even Robb as well. He seemed a good boy and it was obvious he loved Jaehaerys. She couldn’t imagine him taking his father’s many lies kindly.

She felt a twinge of guilt at that. She truly did not want to cause harm to any of her nieces and nephews. But they’d survive the emotional turmoil and be stronger for it. The realm, Jaehaerys, Rhaenys, Ashara, Alaric, Arthur, Rhaella, Daenerys and Viserys, their safety had to come first. She put the thoughts out of mind for now, being back in Winterfell was far more painful than she’d imagined and had put her in a foul and dark mood. No good would come of thinking such things tonight.

Lyanna walked to her room in the servant quarters. Tomorrow she’d visit Old Nan, the next day her son would be wed for true. And soon enough they’d be preparing for his coronation, she knew it in her bones. She couldn’t wait to spit in Robert and Cersei’s faces. They who had climbed over the bodies of her family, of an innocent woman and two babes to sit their arses on a throne that wasn’t theirs. Dragonspawn, he’d called them. Well, there were dragonspawn left and they weren’t as defenceless as Aegon was. If all went as planned, the last thing they’d see in this life was a dragonspawn King with a sword pointed at their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it. Sorry if anyone is a huge Ned fan and offended by his portrayal. This Ned is not canonNed this is an AU so things are different. That doesn’t mean I don’t think many of these things are true of Ned in canon.
> 
> Sansa fans, don’t fear. I hope you can see her confusion and how she’s growing. Sansa will be lovely and intelligent, have no fear.


	9. The Daughters of Winterfell Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2. Arya gets what she wants, sansa does not but she gets what she needs. Lyanna has another conversation in the crypts and godswood, watches her son get married and has a terrible shock the day after the wedding.

Arya

The glass garden wasn’t Arya’s favourite place in Winterfell, flowers were not her thing and Sansa spent too much time here for Arya to frequent it. It was warm and smelled lovely here though. There were flowers, root vegetables and even a few lemon trees. While Arya preferred strawberry tarts, lemon cakes were a wonderful treat. She’d followed her brother and his Marked bride to the glass structure, she’d not had much time to speak to him, or Lady Margaery. Based on appearances, she feared Sansa was correct and that the older girl would not appreciate Arya’s presence. She’d just have to hope Jon would convince her.

She found them sitting on a bench by the winter roses, talking quietly, a guard in Tyrell livery hanging back to give them privacy. It was a sweet moment, Arya supposed but Jon was her brother and he’d not mind her intrusion.

“Jon, I was hoping I could speak with you and Margaery,” she spoke hesitantly.

Jon’s head jerked to her in surprise, a large smile taking over his face. He jumped up and darted towards her, mussing her hair. “Of course, little sister! What can we do for you.”

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. Until recently she and Jon had been the only ‘we’ and now Arya was the outsider. It hurt more than she thought it should. He was Marked now, of course they were a ‘we’. Jon pulled her over to sit next to him, on the opposite side as Margaery. She was beautiful, with her golden eyes and shining hair. Arya felt more drab and awkward next to her than she ever had before. She was like a princess from Sansa’s stories. She just hoped there was more to her and that she wouldn’t be mean. She hoped she’d treat Jon as he deserved, no matter his birth.

She took a deep breath in and began, “I...I was wondering if maybe I could come to Highgarden with you. I don’t want to go to King’s Landing with Sansa and father and the awful Lannisters or the Fat King. I want to stay with you, Jon.” She turned to Margaery then. “Margaery, Lady Margaery, I mean. I know I’m not a perfect lady, not like you or my sister, but I promise I can be better. I’ll try and I’ll not dirty my dresses or be underfoot--”

Margaery cut her off, “Lady Arya, I’d be delighted to bring my Marked’s favourite sibling with us to Highgarden. So long as your Lord Father agrees, I’d be happy to take you on as a lady-in-waiting and ward.”

Arya was stunned. She had not expected it to be this easy or for Margaery to be so kind. “You don’t care that I prefer swords to needles and would rather be a knight than a lady?” Crap. She should’ve stopped while she was ahead.

“No, I don’t. I’ll expect you to do your duties as a lady, but so long as Jon has no problems with it, I don’t see why you can’t also train with a sword. He told me all about the one he had made for you.”

Arya’s mouth fell open in shock. She’d not been expecting this. She wasn’t sure what to do now that her plan of begging was no longer needed. She looked to Jon and he nodded and smiled. His indigo eyes crinkled in mirth.

“Truly? Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! Jon, come on, we need to go speak to father!” Arya whooped, delighted. He had to agree, he wouldn’t be so unfair as to deny her staying with her favourite sibling.

Jon’s eyes went hard at the mention of their father. His mouth pressing into a line. Arya was too excited to think on it and grabbed him by the arm and pulled. Nymeria mimicking her mistress and nudging Ghost in turn. Jon sighed and stood, saying farewell to his bride. Arya yelled out another thank you before racing off to find her father, Jon, Nymeria, and Ghost trailing in her wake.

Jon stopped her halfway there, pausing outside the doors to the keep. His face was serious, his eyes concerned. “Arya, why didn’t you think we’d want you with us? You know how important you are to me, little sister.”

She bit her lip, Jon saw too much and she hadn’t wanted to tell him about Sansa and Jeyne. There was nothing for it though. “Before you came home I had a run in with Sansa and Jeyne.” Jon’s eyes turned hard at that, he knew as well as she how those encounters usually went. “Sansa told me you wouldn’t want me. That even if you did, Lady Margaery would not allow it. I’m a ‘horse-faced, half-feral beast’ and no lady would want me in her household.” Arya felt the tears start spilling again. She lowered her head, why was she being such a baby?

She felt Jon’s fingers gently lift her chin. “Arya, what does everyone say about m..Aunt Lyanna? About how she looks I mean.”

Arya was confused again, why was he bringing up their dead aunt? She decided to humour him, certain he had a point. “They say she was one of the most beautiful women in the realm. I don’t understand what she has to do with anything.”

“Exactly. She was one of the most beautiful maidens in Westeros. Now, who do people always claim you look like, Arya?”

She understood then, but it couldn’t be true. Sansa was the beautiful one, not her. “They say I look just like Aunt Lyanna did at my age. It can’t be true though, Jon.”

“Arya, you’re beautiful now. As you grow into your features you’ll just become more lovely. Sansa has the beauty of the South, delicate and pretty like a daffodil. But you, you’ve the beauty of the North, wild, strong and fierce, like a winter rose. Most southron flowers wilt easily and could never survive here outside of a glass garden, thought I do find myself partial to golden roses, “ he said with a smirk, before turning serious again.

“Winter roses are stronger, their thorns sharper but just as lovely, lovelier in my opinion.” He hugged her then, and Arya leaned into it. She believed him, Jon wouldn’t lie to her.

She took a moment to enjoy the embrace, then stepped back sniffling. “Right, now let’s go find father!” she exclaimed before grabbing Jon’s arm and running off again.

They found father in his study, which was good luck. Arya barged in without knocking, causing her father to jump. Arya laughed, even as he looked at her sternly, looking more haggard than she’d ever seen. She ignored it all, nothing could take away this happiness.

“Father, Father, Jon and Margaery have agreed to foster me in Highgarden! Margaery even wants me to be one of her ladies. Isn’t it wonderful?” She was bouncing with joy. He had to say yes, he had to.

Her father didn’t smile though. He looked at Jon and asked, “Is this true, Jon?”

Jon glared at him and Arya was shocked at the hostility on his face, the loathing in his eyes. What had happened, why was Jon looking at father that way?

He answered calmly, yet coolly, “Arya came to Lady Margaery and I in the glass garden. She begged us to bring her with us to Highgarden. We told her we’d be happy to bring her, so long as you agreed, Lord Stark.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jon. You know why. It’s not a safe time for such a thing. Mayhap in a few years,” he said in a playcating tone.

“It’s not a safe time for her to be in Highgarden but it’s a safe time for her to be in that cesspit they call a capital? Arya will always be safe with me, Lord Stark.” Jon’s voice was still calm but it seemed to be fraying. Why were they being like this? What wasn’t safe?

“Just as she’ll always be safe with me. No one would dare harm her there.”

“Just like no one would dare harm a princess of Dorne or two innocent babes? The very people that did so are living in the Red Keep now,” Jon snapped back harshly. What was he talking about?

Lord Stark stood, indignant, “That’s not fair and it’s not the same. Neither Robert nor Cersei had anything to do with that.”

Jon scoffed, “Sure they didn’t. Regardless, this is about Arya. Can you not see how miserable she is here? She’s constantly criticised and found lacking. She’s compared to Sansa incessantly by your wife and that septa. Jeyne and Sansa tease her mercilessly, they recently told her Margaery and I would not want her with us because she’s a beast and ‘horse-faced’. Are you truly so blind that you didn’t notice how either one of us has suffered under your roof?”

Arya grimaced, tears falling rapidly. She’d known Jon cared, he’d always comforted her, always told Sansa and Jeyne to back off but he had never stood up for her to father. She was confused, angry and embarrassed that he was talking about her like she wasn’t standing right there. She was also grateful that he was fighting for her, yet scared that they were fighting at all. She quickly ducked her head, once more to hide her tears.

The movement must’ve alerted father to her continued presence in the room. He shot Jon an ugly look before gently addressing Arya, “Is all of that true, little she-wolf?” She couldn’t speak without sobbing, so she simply nodded her head.

“If you want to make amends for what you’ve done to me, you’ll let me take Arya with us. She will be safe and happy and loved. Please, think about what is best for her, not you, Lady Stark or the Stag for once.” Arya reached over and grabbed Jon’s hand, she wasn’t sure what was happening here, but he seemed to need it and she did as well. 

Father sighed, looking between the two of them. “Fine. She may go with you. I expect you and Lady Margaery will make sure her lessons continue and help her grow into a fine young lady. I want letters Arya, your mother will as well, and status updates from you or Margaery once a moon, Jon.” 

Arya squealed like Sansa would and ran to hug her father, then ran back and jumped on Jon as well. He laughed, “Easy little sister. Come, you best start packing. Margaery will check and make sure you’re bringing all you need.” He turned from her and addressed father, “Lord Stark, I do not believe a septa is what Arya needs. She’s northern through and through, would you agree to finding a governess for her? Maybe one of the ladies here for the wedding could be of help.”

He rubbed his chin, thinking. “I don’t know, Jon. Lady Stark will want her to have a septa.”

Jon looked completely exasperated, “Lord Stark, Arya is a She Wolf of Winterfell. She is Northern, not some dainty, Southron lady. She doesn’t worship the Seven, she follows the Old Gods, she is a Stark. She needs a northern teacher and as she’ll be my ward isn’t this my decision?”

Ned took a breath, trying to calm his rage. “I am your lord father, Jon. The Warden of the North. You will treat me with the respect due my station. Arya can have a governess but she’ll need lessons with a septa as well. That’s my final offer.”

Jon’s face turned into a nasty sneer, “You have never treated me with the respect due my station either, Lord Stark. I do not appreciate hypocrisy.” He ran a hand through his curls and straightened his black tunic. “I agree to your offer. I will talk to the Northern ladies and find one myself since you are disinclined.”

Arya had never felt more off balance, what had Jon been talking about? It didn’t make any sense, and she couldn’t believe how rudely he’d spoken to their father. Jon never acted this way. He’d usually just brood over insults. She’d noticed he’d been more confident since he’d been Marked, though he was still as melancholy as ever. Perhaps being marked by the gods made him more confident?

She followed Jon out of the room after telling her father ‘thank you’ one more time. “Jon, what was that all about?”

He stopped walking and looked at her. “I cannot tell you right now, Arya. But one day, I promise that I will.”

She frowned at that but didn’t push, he’d tell her when he was ready, besides she’d gotten what she wanted. Now she could stay with Jon. She’d even be rid of awful Septa Mordane. She couldn’t wait to see her face when she told her! She was dying to see Sansa’s face as well.

She turned to Jon to ask if it was alright for her to tell them, but he knew her so well that he beat her to it. “You know what we usually say? Why don’t you go do the opposite of that, little sister,” he japed with a light laugh.

“Tell Sansa!” they both shouted brightly, descending into a fit of giggles. It was nice to see Jon so happy. This was the Jon she loved best and she felt lucky that she was one of the few people that ever got to see this side of him. Even if she wished he was happier and carefree more often.

She gave Jon a quick hug and set off to find Sansa, she was certain she’d find Septa Mordane as well, considering Arya should’ve been in the sewing circle, putting the finishing touches on the gowns and tunics for the wedding and the capital. She’d assumed (correctly) that everyone would be relieved that Arya wasn’t there. Her stitching was horrid and they’d have to redo her work anyway, so why do it to begin with?

She quickly checked her clothes, and made sure her braid hadn’t come undone and entered the sitting room they used for lessons with the septa and mother.

“Lady Arya, you’re late, again. I’m going to have to have a talk with your Lord Father about your behaviour. It is most unbefitting of a lady. Lady Sansa is always on time and properly presentable. You would do well to emulate her.”

Sansa puffed up at that, though a bit less than she usually did. Arya wondered what that was about but decided it didn’t matter in the face of her news.

“I was with my Lord Father, septa. We were discussing how Lady Margaery is going to bring me to Highgarden as one of her ladies-in-waiting and Jon’s ward. She thinks I’m a good enough lady for that. And she’s the most beautiful and gracious lady I’ve ever met.” 

Arya turned to Sansa, parroting the septa’s hurtful words, “You would do well to emulate her.”

Sansa screeched in outrage and Septa Mordane looked as if she’d swallowed an entire lemon tree. It was very hard not to laugh. If her mouth twitched a few times, who could blame her?

…………

Sansa

…………

It was cold in the courtyard of Winterfell, and Sansa’s mood matched the weather perfectly. She had still been reeling from the truth her father had dropped on her and then she’d gotten a speech that conveyed her father’s disappointment in her for mocking and teasing her sister. Not only that but Arya had been taken in as one of Lady Margaery’s ladies. When Sansa was a princess maybe she’d take Margaery as her own lady-in-waiting. That would show Arya.

Sansa had finally gone and spoken to Jon earlier, she’d even gone into the Godswood which usually made her uncomfortable, and it only served to make her feel even worse. Especially because even though Jon was everything kind and gracious she still couldn’t keep the haughty look from her own face.

It had been going well enough. She’d told him she was sorry for her rude behaviour when he’d arrived. That she’d like to try to improve their relationship. How their Lord Father had made her aware of some truths and that she shouldn’t have treated him as she had all these years. Then he’d gone and ruined it all! 

After she’d finished her sweet apology he’d looked at her very gently, she almost thought she saw pity in his eyes but that couldn’t be right. Then he’d said, “I understand, Sansa. You’re young yet and just following what your Lady Mother and septa have taught you.. You want to be a lady so badly and they were your only examples.” He cut off, obviously having said more than he’d meant to.

How dare he? How dare he try to act like she was just a stupid little girl or imply that her mother and Septa Mordane were wrong or bad. How dare he act like Lady Stark wasn’t the epitome of a great lady!

“Are you saying my mother isn’t a noble lady? How dare you, you bastard! I don’t care what father says, he must be wrong and you did send mother that letter, you hate her and wanted her gone!” It was out before Sansa could stop herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth as if to trap the words in but it was too little, too late. Jon’s odd purple eyes shuttered, then went wide at something over her shoulder. She looked back, and wished she could just melt into the ground because standing behind her were Lady Tyrell and Lady Margaery.

Jon’s goodmother looked scandalised and she was surprised at the anger on Lady Margaery’s face. She turned to Jon and asked if he’d please escort her mother to the glass garden, that she’d like a moment alone with her soon to be good-sister.

Jon accepted politely, coming to place a kiss on his Marked’s cheek before offering his arm to Lady Alerie. She’d never seen Jon act so gallantly, never seen him look noble at all. She half wanted to call him back, Jon would never be cruel to her and she was scared what the older girl would do. She’d never been so mortified.

“He didn’t show it I’m sure but I can feel things through the bond. You just hurt your brother deeply,” she said it quietly but there was nothing kind in her tone. Sansa had made a grave mistake when she thought the lady from the Reach would be disappointed and upset by being bound to a bastard-born. Margaery Tyrell cared for Jon. Going by the anger in her eyes, she cared deeply.

The anger deflated out of Sansa. What was wrong with her? Why did she have to do that? Why did he have to speak to her that way? Sansa didn’t know what to think anymore.

“That wasn’t my intent, Lady Margaery. I actually came to apologise to him, it just all went so wrong!” Sansa’s voice went so high at the end, and it was all so much that embarrassed tears started to well in her blue eyes. Her hands suddenly became very interesting as she tried to avoid the gaze of this girl she looked up to.

Arya was right, she really was just a stupid little girl.

Margaery breathed out roughly through her nose. Then she pulled Sansa over to the stump father usually sat on and gestured for her to sit. Sansa did, taking a few breaths and wiping at her face as surreptitiously as she could before looking up at Margaery Tyrell. She was wearing a lovely dove grey gown, with delicate stitching in pale gold thread along the seams. She still looked like a noble, southron lady, yet she fit into the North as well. She wore more muted colours than was fashionable at court, at least according to what her mother had told her, and also wore higher necklines than was stylish there as well. But she still shone a bit brighter than the other ladies of the North, showed just a bit more skin. Sansa wished she’d teach her how to do so. Though, Sansa would be in the capital soon herself, so she supposed it didn’t truly matter.

Sansa was envious of her for that. She’d never fit in with the Northerners, not really. She heard how the bannermen laughed with Arya and sang her praises as the new She Wolf of Winterfell. She heard their quieter whispering of how Sansa was a perfect replica of her Lady Mother. They did not mean it as a compliment. 

Margaery pulled her out of her thoughts by asking her a question, “Sansa, what letter were you talking about? What is it that you think Jon’s done?”

Sansa bit her lip, she felt foolish and she didn’t want to have anyone else knowing what her mother had told her. She didn’t want to shame her if there had been no letter by making her lie common knowledge.

Margaery tried again, “I won’t tell anyone if you do not wish me to. We’re to be sister’s tomorrow. I wouldn’t hurt you so.”

She felt relief at that, maybe Margaery would know the truth, or could find out if she could truly feel things through their bond. Once again, Sansa was jealous. It would’ve been so lovely and exciting to get a Soulmark herself. She brushed the thought aside, jealousy was unbecoming of a lady.

“Well… My mother told me the reason she went to visit her father was because of Jon. She said he sent a letter saying that if Lady Stark remained, Jon would shame House Stark by marrying outside of Winterfell.” Sansa averted her eyes. She had no desire to see the other lady’s face at her confession.

It took a moment for Margaery to speak, and when she did it was so gentle that Sansa felt like a little baby. “Sansa, do you truly think your mother or father would acquiesce to such a demand? If Jon had sent such a letter, all your Lady Mother would need to do is show the other lords and it would be Jon who was shamed.” 

She paused again, giving Sansa a moment to digest what she’d said. “Do you think your brother truly capable of such a thing?”

Sansa shook her head, tears once again blurring her vision. “No. What you’ve said makes sense. I just, I don’t understand why she’d lie. What is there to gain from it?” She finally looked up, wanting to see the older girl’s face.

This time Margaery looked away. “I cannot say why the Lady Stark would do such a thing. Perhaps she was confused, she may have just assumed Jon wouldn’t want her here.” Even Sansa could tell that she did not believe what she’d just said. Then with a pointed look she added, “If you don’t know the reason, how could I possibly know?”

Then she bid Sansa farewell, claiming she needed to ready for the Bolton’s arrival and that Sansa should do the same soon. And now here they were, standing in the cold, looking at horrid red and pink banners with flayed men on them, while Lord Bolton and his heir Ser Domeric went down the line greeting the Tyrells and her family. The closer the pale eyed men got to her the more jittery with nerves Sansa became.

She did her best to stop it, courtesy was a lady’s armour and she didn’t want them to know how frightened she was of Lord Roose. And suddenly he was standing in front of her, reaching for her hand. She smiled as prettily as she could, focused as she was on keeping her hand steady. Though she couldn’t control the shiver that overtook her as he pressed his dry, hard mouth to her knuckles.

And as quickly as that, he was gone and his son was standing in front of her. She was surprised by how handsome he was. She’d never seen him up close before that she remembered. His eyes weren’t so cold as his father’s and where Lord Bolton’s looked like chips of ice and just as cold, his son’s were like chips of pale amber and warm.

It took her a moment to realise he’d spoken to her. She gave him a small curtsey, her chest feeling tight. Then he took her proffered hand and pressed his warm lips to the back of it and everything exploded. It felt like she’d been struck by lightning, she screamed and she thought she heard him scream as well. That was all she knew before she crumpled to the cold ground.

She came to in her father’s arms, her hands burning as if she’d shoved them into a fire. She heard loud voices, Jon and Margaery she thought distantly. 

“Father, father what happened? Why do my hands burn?” she cried, trying to remember what had led to this situation. The Bolton heir, he’d kissed her hand and then everything had hurt. What had he done to her?

“Shhh sweet girl. You’re going to be just fine. We’re just taking you to your chambers. We’ll talk there.” His voice was soothing but his face concerned her, his lips were set in a severe frown, his eyes crinkled with worry. Something was very wrong.

He finally made it to her chambers and gently set her on her bed. Then turned around to close her door, but both Jon and Margaery shouldered in before he got the chance. He didn’t want them here, that much was obvious but why? And where was Maester Luwin? Her hands still burned, though less intently. She sat up, pulling them from under the furs to look at them and screamed.

Her brother and Margaery made it to her first, Jon gently taking her hands in his. Her hands...Her hands. It was horrible and beautiful and oh gods she was going to be sick. She ripped her hands away and then threw up on the floor of her chambers, right next to Lady Margaery’s dainty, doe-skin slippered feet.

“Shhh.. Sansa, it’s okay. It’s okay, it won’t hurt for much longer, I promise,” Jon comforted softly.

Margaery climbed up onto the bed next to her, pulling Sansa into her arms. She knew why they were here now. They were the only two people that could understand what was happening to her. 

Sansa looked for her father and he was still by the door, staring at Sansa’s hands. She quickly shoved them under her furs. He averted his eyes, hastily told her he would go to get Luwin and left the room. He no longer appeared just worried, he seemed scared and that thought terrified her. 

Jon leaned over and kissed Sansa’s forehead, “Margaery will stay with you and answer any questions you have. I’m going to go check on Ser Domeric.” A weird warmth spread through her at the name, only for a moment before she realised what was happening and went cold again. She nodded her head to Jon, his young face was lined with concern and love and Sansa started crying harder once he was gone. Everything was all wrong. And now she had the wrong Marks upon her hands. She should’ve had a wolf and a stag, a wolf and a lion. Not this.

She glanced at her hands again, this time looking more closely. On her left hand was a beautiful direwolf, it looked just like Lady but with Sansa’s own Tully blue eyes. It was so vibrant and detailed. The wolf was sitting on her haunches, her tail wrapped around her front. She was sleek and looked more regal than any wolf had a right to be, just like Lady.

It was her right hand that brought her such distress. It was a truly ghastly sight. There on her skin for all to see was a horse. The horse’s head was black, with blood red mane and eyes, that was disturbing enough but it only got worse. The rest of the horse appeared to be flayed, the muscles and sinew standing out in stark detail. A thousand fold worse than the banners she’d been facing minutes ago, and now it was permanently and prominently displayed on her creamy, pale skin. 

Was this the gods way of telling her she was unworthy of marrying the prince, of being queen one day? What sin was she being punished for that they’d bind her to a Bolton? It wasn’t fair. They’d ruined everything, it was all perfect and her life was a song and now it was one of Old Nan’s scary stories. The very thought was enough to make her feel ill again, but Margaery’s voice distracted her. She wondered if she knew what Sansa felt. She was certain she’d hoped to be Joffrey’s bride, before Sansa was chosen. The gods had apparently deemed her unfit as well. At least Sansa wasn’t bound to a bastard, she could find comfort in that she supposed.

“Sansa, I know you may not see it now, but this is a blessing, in more ways than these marks being gifts from the gods in themselves.” She looked genuine but Sansa couldn’t believe her, she was too hurt, too angry to listen to any sort of reason.

“Are you just saying that because you’re happy that the girl who took what you wanted, a betrothal to Prince Joffrey has now had it so cruelly ripped away from her?” Her voice was mocking, she followed it with a sneer and a small laugh, “Well, at least the gods didn’t deem me only worthy of a bastard with nothing to his name.”

She was shocked by the lady’s response, a queer look overtook her heart shaped face and then she laughed. She laughed so hard she doubled over and let out a most unladylike snort. Sansa was bewildered, had Margaery gone mad? She finally got control of herself and looked at Sansa with pity, her head still held high.

“Oh Sansa, one day I hope you can look back on this and laugh just as hard as I did. I’m sorry dear girl, the irony is just too much.” Irony? What Irony? It seemed to Sansa that she truly had gone insane. Margaery must’ve read her mind for she spoke again, “Nevermind all that, I’m not mad and one day you’ll understand the humour here. But Sansa, truly nothing, not even being queen one day would have made me want Joffrey.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to laugh, though nowhere near as wildly as her future good-sister had. “You cannot expect me to believe that. Every girl wants to marry a prince and be queen one day, for their sons to be kings. Well, maybe not Arya but she doesn’t really count.”

The left side of Margaery’s mouth quirked up, and she abandoned her spot on Sansa’s bed, heading towards the door. “Oh, I want to be queen, I’d just never debase myself by marrying Joffrey. Nothing would be worth marrying him. You’re skin would crawl even more than it did when you first saw that flayed horse on your hand if you knew half the things he’s done. He’s a monster that delights in tormenting those weaker than him, don’t believe the mask you saw. If you don’t believe me, ask your Lord Father. A Warden should know these sorts of things.”

Sansa couldn’t believe that, he was a handsome prince, he was noble, chivalrous, and good. Sansa should have been his wife, his princess, she should’ve had his babies and one would be king one day. She groaned as soon as the thought crossed her mind. The idea of marrying him and having his children making her physically ill, when only this morning it had delighted her. What was happening?

“Ah,” Margaery said, “thinking of other men in any way non platonic will do that to you. Our Marks won’t allow it. I’ll leave you to rest and think. I’m sorry you’re hurting but I truly believe this will be the best thing that ever happened to you. It has been for me.”

With that the older girl left the room, leaving Sansa alone. She turned her attention to the man she’d seen for only a few moments and felt something interesting. She felt cunning and loyalty, kindness and brutality. She also would swear there was a pleasant aroma of leather, vanilla, bergamot and steel wrapping around her. She shook off the thoughts and the scents and settled down to sleep. Maybe when she awoke this would all have been some terrible nightmare. She hoped she’d wake up still betrothed to Prince Joffrey.

………..

Lyanna

………..

“I can’t believe it, I wanted to laugh so hard I almost pissed my breeches!” Benjen Stark crowed.

Lyanna couldn’t judge her little brother too harshly, she herself had practically danced with joy as soon as he told her what all the ruckus was about. She did feel slightly guilty though. Sansa was not her favourite of her brother’s children but she was still her niece and she was sorry that the girl was hurting. She took relief in the knowledge that this would save the girl a lot of pain in the long run. And not just because Jae will eventually take the throne and likely send her now former betrothed to the Wall. That will be easier for all involved with the boy not wed to his cousin/sister.

“I know. This is wonderful for our plans. Everything would’ve been more complicated with Sansa married to Joffrey. She’d have become a hostage in time,” she agreed.

Benjen’s smile was still bright, “And Domeric Bolton is a good lad. Not near as disturbing as his father. He’s also grateful to me and Howland for his life. Without Howland’s green dreams the boy would be dead and we’d have a Bolton heir that would make the skin of the Red Kings themselves crawl.”

Lyanna remembered that, it had happened a year or two ago. He’d dreamt of a rabid dog, half its body flayed ripping out the stomach of a horse that looked just like the one newly Marked on their niece’s hand. At first they weren’t aware of who the dog was meant to signify, but the horse was easy enough to name as Domeric Bolton.

It hadn’t been until the boy was heading back from the Vale and stopped for a night in Moat Cailin that Benjen had put the rest of the pieces together. At dinner the Heir to the Dreadfort had excitedly told Benjen that before he went home he planned to go and meet his bastard brother. The dream he’d been told of suddenly made sense. He couldn’t tell the boy everything but he did urge caution, to not eat or drink anything his brother gave him and to bring his guards with him. Domeric thought the lord was being overly cautious but had decided to take the advice.

They were all greatly relieved when he did. He’d sent a letter to Benjen when he’d made it back to the Dreadfort telling him of what occured. Lyanna had read it herself and the thought of it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Domeric had found the mill where his brother lived a disgusting man Lord Roose had sent to train him. Reek, Ramsay Snow called him. The other boy had feigned delight at meeting his brother and begged him to eat lunch with him. Domeric had agreed but ordered Reek to test his food. It’s unknown whether the man knew the food was poisoned or not but he ate it regardless. 

It sent the bastard into a rage and he attacked his trueborn brother. Unfortunately for the monster, Domeric was a well trained knight, his brother no more than a butcher. Domeric hamstrung the other boy and had his guards escort both he and that Reek person to Lord Bolton for justice. Reek died an hour after they reached the Dreadfort, shitting his blood and guts. Roose had no choice but to send his bastard to the Wall, he couldn’t execute him for none is as cursed as the kinslayer.

To the surprise of absolutely no one Ramsay Snow tried to run and was cut down in the attempt. No one shed a tear. She just hated that he reinforced the horrible stigma placed on bastards. The whole affair had certainly emboldened Septa Catelyn.

“Yes, she won’t see it now but I do think our niece will be much happier with her new Soulmark than she could imagine. Is it true he plays the harp?” she asked her brother.

She walked over to her tomb while she spoke. Again feeling the chill down her spine, and lifted the lid. The chest was still inside, undisturbed. She’d begged Jae to leave them or send them back to Greywater Watch, but he wouldn’t be separated from them. Rhaenys had even allowed him to bring hers with. Saying she didn’t know why, but she felt they should not be apart from each other.

In the end she’d caved, on the condition the eggs were kept here, no one would be mad enough to open her crypt and Jae visited as often as he could without causing any whispers.

Ben nodded his head, “Aye, he plays the harp. Not as well as Rhaegar or Jae from what I remember but better than most.”

She closed the crypt and stepped away, and not a moment too soon. “That’s good, she’ll―” Lyanna cut off again, this time she didn’t bother to hide, she knew who it was.

“Hello brother, how may we be of service? Is Sansa alright?” She did not want to deal with him. He’d just ruin her good mood.

“She’s distraught. I left her with Lady Margaery, Jon is with Ser Domeric. I only came to find you because I’ve received a raven that concerns us all,” he said, looking defeated.

She’d bite, “And what was in this raven?”

“It was from the King. He has decided to hold a tourney in honour of my appointment as Hand...and of the newly Soulmarked couple.”

All the air in her lungs left her in a rush. “No,” she breathed, “no, no, no.”

“When is this tourney, Ned?” Benjen asked, because Lyanna was having trouble breathing imagining Jaehaerys being anywhere near Robert Baratheon, unless it was slide a sword through his chest. Honestly, it’d be a favour to his heart, the thing had to be on its last legs and was overworked mercilessly.

“In one moon. We’ll have to leave as quickly as possible after the wedding, we were all planning too anyway. You all to go to Highgarden, me and Sansa to see Cat at Riverrun and pick up Bran. It’ll be a large party but we can make it in time.”

Lyanna saw her chance, “Ned, we’re going to their wedding in Highgarden. Neither you nor Baratheon can expect Jon and Margaery to go to his tourney instead!”

Ned shook his head, “Lyanna, you didn’t let me finish. He has offered to let them marry in the Great Sept of Baelor. Said the first Soulmarked, Gods blessed couple in over two centuries should marry nowhere else.”

Lyanna nodded, she shouldn’t have been surprised. It would be a great boon to his regime if the gods blessed couple supported his reign and were friendly with him. She wondered who had had the idea to do so. She couldn’t imagine either Robert or Stannis thinking of such a thing. Well, the tourney was all Robert but someone had refined it, and she wanted to know who and what they knew. She hoped it was Varys, she didn’t think so though and feared it was the one Bran had split open like a pig. Varys knew she did not want her son in that place unless it was to depose Robert and Cersei. It was too dangerous. Too many people there had known Rhaegar. He’d not risk it. And that wasn’t even accounting for what Ned would do. 

She looked at him suspiciously. “Did you have anything to do with this, Ned? And if not, what will you do now? I hope I can count on you not to turn my son, your nephew over to Robert and the Lannisters. I hope you love him enough to not want to see his head smashed against a wall, or worse.”

Benjen took a step forward and Ned jerked back, shaking his head repeatedly. “Lyanna, I would never―”

“Wouldn’t you? It’s the threat you’ve held over my head since Starfall. Or was it just mine and Rhaenys’ heads you were willing to give up?” she questioned, tongue sharp enough to draw blood.

“I...I don’t know.” He then had the nerve to hang his head. “But I swear it on the heart tree, on my family with Catelyn, Robert will not learn of Jon or Rhaenys, or any of you from me.”

“That’s not enough. Swear no one will learn it through you.” And so help her, if anyone did she would hold him to that vow.

“I swear it on my honour, on my family, by the Old Gods, that no one will learn of any of you through me. By neither word nor deed.” He let out a huff, “Are you satisfied?”

“Not nearly,” mumbled Ben.

“I don’t care what Robert says, Arthur will go with Jon, along with at least a dozen Tyrell men-at-arms and should anything go wrong, you’re own household guard will aid in getting him and Margaery free. You will get Robert’s word that no harm will come to Arthur Dayne while he’s there.” She’d make them as safe as she could and hoped they would leave quickly. 

“Fine. Now are we done here?”

“Yes. You best go write to Robert. I’ll go speak to my son. Benjen will you come with?”

Then the three remaining children of Rickard and Lyarra Stark left the crypts of Winterfell. Lyanna wondered if it would be for the last time until they came here for their eternal rest.

……………….

The ceremony was lovely, she watched from the back as ‘Jon Stark’ cloaked Margaery in Lyanna’s very own maiden cloak. The grey wolf looked almost silver in the sun, the white like the snow falling around them. Summer snow at a wedding was a great sign in the North. Lyanna wasn’t surprised the Old Gods would show their favour to Jae and Margaery, not anymore. The Gods were more real and tangible than she’d once believed. Her son was wearing the grey and white of the Starks. Lyanna would’ve paid to see Catelyn Tully’s face. The thought nearly made her laugh out loud.

Jaehaerys had carried Margaery all the way to the Great Hall for the feast, barely breaking a sweat. He’d grown much from his spars with Ser Arthur and Alaric. He was never going to be thickly muscled like Robert or even Robb, but he was lithe, quick, tall and graceful. He was like his father, though he’d prevail against Robert where Rhaegar had not. 

She shook her head, she’d not think of such things now, today was a happy day. She looked around and saw Ser Domeric ask her niece for a dance. The redhead looked hesitant but quickly smothered it, her mother’s training kicking in. It was almost comical how once they started dancing her reluctance and the sorrow that had graced her face disappeared completely. Soulmarks were powerful things. She wondered whether Marked couples would have loved each other even without the Marks, or whether the Marks forced it. She hoped it was the former and that the Marks just did away with all the awkward first meetings, the insecurities, the past hurts. 

She was still thinking of it, at her table below the salt when Greatjon Umber called for the bedding. Cheers went up all around, the women looking on with just as much anticipation as the men, the thought made Lyanna feel a bit ill. She finally had her baby boy, but he was truly a babe no longer. The look on his face should’ve made that and his feelings on the bedding clear enough but drunks aren’t the most observant. Where Jon failed however, Ghost succeeded. 

“I’m sorry, my lords. My Lord Father didn’t abide a bedding and neither shall I. The only man that shall see my Golden Rose in such a state is me. But please, drink and be merry and maybe find a lass of your own!” He ordered and japed and behind that sullenness, behind all his insecurities was a charming and charismatic man. All he’d need to foster it was more love and encouragement. It was a heartening thing to see. The men moved on laughing and drinking, there didn’t appear to be any animosity. She worried if he’d be able to do the same in King’s Landing. Hopefully no one would be fool enough to suggest a bedding for a second wedding. Hopefully, they’d realise that such a ceremony would physically pain Jae and his wife.

After his speech Jaehaerys and Margaery, the true King and Queen of Westeros, walked to their bridal chamber, escorted by Ghost, Garlan Tyrell, Robb Stark and oddly enough Domeric Bolton. Once they left, Lyanna grabbed the pitcher of watered down ale on her table and began drinking. She did not want to think about what her little boy would be doing tonight. Hopefully Benjen would be able to sneak off to the Godswood to join her for a drink or two.

…………

Benjen was able to meet Lyanna in the Godswood, Arthur in tow, neither having a problem slipping away in the chaos of drunken Northerners. She was happy to have Arthur here, they’d barely had a moment together since they’d left the Moat. She’d missed his solid presence. She wished she could say she missed things more physical but the man wouldn’t budge on his stupid oath he’d made to Mad Aerys. Damn the man. The problem arrived after one drink, two others met them there as well.

Lyanna almost fainted when she saw Wyman Manderly and her old friend Maege Mormont walking towards her, Arthur and Ben. The Sword of the Morning had to hold her steady. She was turning into a silly lady having the vapors. 

“We thought that was you, Lyanna Stark. How in the hells are you standing here?” Wyman asked, his voice low and chins quivering. Maege stood next to him, both looking confused and amazed. It would’ve been funny if the situation weren’t so dire.

And so Lyanna, Ben and Arthur explained all that had happened as they knew it. The Knight of the Laughing Tree and Harrenhal, she even confessed Robert’s assault and felt lighter for it. She told them of the letters exchanged with Elia and Rhaegar, Aerys learning through Ethan Glover that Lyanna was the mystery knight he so feared. Rhaegar’s rescue, the letters that never arrived and all they knew of the conspiracies at play. Finally she told them of Rhaenys and the deaths of Elia and Aegon. The only things she didn’t mention were Alaric and Ashara, that was not her story to tell and she feared Wyman’s overworked heart wouldn’t be able to handle much more.

Once she was done it was Maege who spoke first. “I knew it! I knew you weren’t taken. I knew how you felt about Robert and had seen how you looked at the Crown Prince and Princess.” She turned to Lord Manderly, “Didn’t I say so Wyman?”

“You did, you did. But this is not what surprises and worries me the most. My biggest misgiving comes from Ned’s actions, and the actions of the Trouts and Falcons. I’m not even surprised about Ethan, it was always suspicious he alone had survived out of Brandon’s party. Him dying so mysteriously after only cemented those misgivings.”

Lyanna, her brother and the man she cared too much for, sighed in relief.  
“Now, what do you plan to do and how can we help? Your boy’s a good lad, and the entire North has had misgivings about Ned and his Andal wife for many years. In small part due to his treatment of… Jae, was it?” Wyman appeared to be the leader of this group, likely because Maege wasn’t much for politics. She stayed the entire time though and the five of them spoke late into the night making plans. She felt a bit guilty since Jae was still uncertain of his course. But she’d rather be over prepared than under and she had a feeling the state King’s Landing and the current rulers would bring him to the right decision soon.

Disaster was headed off that night, and Lyanna was rewarded for her daring in coming here. She just hoped no one else had figured her out.

…….

The folowing night, still nursing her hangover, Winterfell was plunged into chaos once again. The crypt was set alight. Her son was inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m a few days later than I’d hoped and that ending was a bit rushed. I wanted to get it out there but keep getting caught up in other stuff. I had the chapter written up to right before they have the talk in the godswood since Saturday and finished the rest yesterday but couldn’t find time to edit it till this am.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Next up will have Jae and Robb, maybe someone else, I’m not certain yet. It will not be as long as these split chapters.


	10. Birthed in Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after, Arya gets into a spot of trouble, Jae gets in worse trouble but it turns out very well. Robb learns a bunch of hard truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild descriptions of a wedding night.
> 
> Enjoy this extra long chapter, or don't if you dislike super long ones lol

Margaery  
…………….

She laid in bed, waiting for her husband to return. He spent time in the crypts each night, sitting with the eggs and his dead ancestors. She could feel how calm it made him, despite how odd it was to her. 

No sooner had she thought of him then she heard his smooth voice down the bond. “I’ll not be gone long, dearest wife.”

She smiled, getting up from their soft bed to eat some strawberries. She wanted her breath sweet for when he returned. Their bridal chambers weren’t the biggest or most beautiful she’d ever been in, they couldn’t even compare to her chambers in Highgarden but she was happier here then she’d ever been anywhere else. That was all down to Jae. The night before...She felt silly now being so frightened of it. Yes, it had hurt a bit, a sharp pain followed by a dull ache similar to a bruise but it wasn’t the searing pain her septa had told her it was. Though she supposed that’s what she got for listening to a septa’s advice on coupling. The other sensations had overshadowed all of it. She’d never know what it would be like without the Marks, but she knew it couldn’t compare to what it was like with them. 

Not only could she feel her own pleasure, but she could feel his. It’d made everything so intense, so pleasurable, that it was almost unbearable by the end of it. It was over rather quickly, which she supposed was normal, Jae being a bit more inexperienced than she, but the joy of it hadn’t suffered any for it. He’d also spent quite a bit of time doing something her septa had definitely not informed her of, though she had heard of women doing similar for men. She wasn’t sure where her husband had learned such a thing, or even sure she wanted to know but she very much wanted him to use his tongue like that again. He’d obliged her this morning before they’d gone to break their fasts, but they’d spent most of the day lounging in their rooms in the guest quarters, talking and reading their books about Soulmarks, discussing what to do about King’s Landing.

Her father was ecstatic of course. His little girl was to be married in the Great Sept of Baelor, ‘It’s the only place fit for a king and queen to wed, my sweet!”. Her grandmother had closed her eyes, as if praying to keep her composure around her fool son. Once they’d pointed out why King’s Landing was so dangerous he’d sung a different tune. But there was nothing they could do, they couldn’t deny the king, not when to do so would be suspicious in and of itself.

Her goodmother had joined them to discuss it in the solar given over for her father (grandmother truly). Ghost stationed outside to keep eavesdroppers at bay. She’d promised they’d contact Varys before they arrived, if his response missed them in the North, he’d forward it on to Darry, one of the few lords they trusted. Though she claimed he’d likely already sent word to them at Greywater Watch and it’d be waiting at Moat Cailin when they passed through. 

Lyanna would be splitting off from them there, joining up with Rhaenys and Ashara. It was too dangerous for any of them to step foot in King’s Landing, though Alaric would likely still join them. The rest, including Lady Ashara, would be heading to Highgarden with Willas. She wasn’t sure how they’d hide all these dead people there but they’d make due. Perhaps they could claim Rhaenys as Ashara’s daughter. Both could be minor nobles from the Narrow Sea that were joining their household. She had no idea what they’d do with Lyanna though. She did know that no matter what they did, they’d not be able to hide for very long. She just hoped Jaehaerys had set his mind on declaring before he was forced to. He already seemed more open to it, especially now that he knew his mother would support and love him either way. She had a feeling seeing the state of the realm, capital, and royal family itself would be what clinched it. He was too good hearted to leave the realm to ruin, too defensive of his family to see them in danger, and beginning to be too proud of his heritage to watch it be desecrated by stags and lions.

The fierce she wolf had tried to talk her brother out of bringing Lady Sansa to King’s Landing but there’d been no dissuading him. He thought it best for Robert and Cersei to see the Marks on her hands, so the queen couldn’t take the broken betrothal as an insult from the Starks. Though Margaery believed it was still an insult to the current ruling family, just one from the Gods themselves. Which had made her husband shake with laughter when she’d told him. Still Stark had a point and even if she thought it not worth the risk she could still see the sense in it. Sansa was also determined to attend the wedding and see the capital, especially since her sister was allowed to go. Perhaps seeing the cesspit it was would break her of some of her more fanciful beliefs. And where Sansa went, so too did the Heir to the Dreadfort. His cousin Bethany Dustin would join them as well, Jon had brought her on as Arya’s new governess. The girl was striking and witty, her dark eyes shone with intelligence. Margaery thought she’d fit in nicely with their group and with her love of horses, be a good fit with Arya.

Bethany was the only child of Lady Barbrey Dustin née Ryswell and her late husband Lord Willam. He’d died at the Tower of Joy and she had never forgiven Lord Stark. Her hate for Catelyn Tully was itself a bottomless abyss. According to Lyanna she had desperately loved Brandon Stark, much more than he’d regarded her, unfortunately. But her love for her nephew won out and she’d do all she could to see him flourish. She appeared to have big plans for Sansa as well. Even if she couldn’t seem to keep the disdain from her eyes when she looked at the mirror image of the woman she so loathed.

Lady Dustin and Lord Roose had hoped to have Sansa foster with her for the year before they’d officially wed, that way Domeric could visit and not have it be improper and Barbrey could teach her all she’d need to know to be Lady of the Dreadfort. It’s where Sansa would go when she returned North. The young girl was not happy to have traded King’s Landing for the Barrowlands. This was the compromise.

The news about Lord Manderly and Lady Mormont declaring for them was wonderful and a good indication of how the North would turn once Jae made his claim. The Manderly’s were the richest family in the North, the Mormonts known as the most loyal to the Starks, other families would follow their lead. She hoped Sansa’s Soulmark would bring the Boltons to them as well, with them would come the Dustins, Ryswells and Lockes. They were the Starks most powerful bannermen, despite being less wealthy than the Manderlys who were still often seen as southron. Though if all it did was get Sansa away from Joffrey that would be enough. 

Margaery was in complete agreement with Princess Rhaenys and often wanted to shake the girl, in the godswood she’d wanted to do much more, but she could see Jae’s side as well. It wasn’t the girl’s fault she’d been taught such backward things and had her head filled with clouds. Her good sister was correct, Lady Catelyn had much to answer for. Margaery didn’t want to see the lady saved, she had a plan for her that she thinks her husband will love. She did hope Lord Stark could be brought around, even if she didn’t want the man in a position of any power. He’d hurt her soulmate deeply and only Jae’s love of the men made her mellow. Because despite all the anger and his sense of betrayal he did still care for him, her good mother hated her brother even more for that, Margaery thought.

How Jaehaerys planned to use most of her dowry would likely turn more lords towards them as well. Half of it would be distributed in foodstuffs throughout the North, and that was nothing to sneeze at. Lord Stark hadn’t looked too pleased, likely because Jae wasn’t sending it all to Winterfell to be distributed by the Starks. That fact wasn’t unnoticed by anyone and it showed the Soulmarked couple’s mistrust of him and only emboldened the whispers. He’d also argued for reduced prices on imports from the Reach, it would only last a year but would still be very beneficial. A quarter of it he was using to set up a separate fund for the coming winter, she believed that would just be a start for a fund for Westeros all together.

Most lords did something similar but there was no organisation or oversight for it. Standardizing it and making it a requirement would needle the lords but win the love and loyalty of the commons. The lords would have to get other concessions, she mused and have it made clear the funds would aid them as well. They had enough money in Braavos to get started off well, so long as they ignored the crown’s debt to House Lannister. They could write it off as reparations.

The final quarter would be for Margaery herself, to establish her household. She was uncertain where that’d be as of yet. They were still deciding which keep and lands would be best. There was a newly extinct lordly family that looked promising in the Reach. The shield islands would hopefully be capable of hiding the dragons as they grew. Though she knew both Jaehaerys and Rhaenys wanted Dragonstone back. It’d likely be their first objective. And hopefully would get Stannis out of the way. It all depended on when they could declare. There was no point building a house or taking over one if they’d be at war soon, and then either dead or ruling from the Red Keep. She was both exhausted and excited at the prospect of all the coming politics, she couldn’t deny that she loved playing the game.

She quickly ate another strawberry and was just about to hop back into bed when she felt terror flood through her, terror and rage. She screamed, smelling smoke despite the room being completely clear. Oh gods something is wrong, Jaehaerys is in danger, she scrambled towards the door, she needed to get help. No sooner had she thought it than she heard his voice, ‘Fire in the crypts, attacked, get help.’ She realised distantly that she was still screaming. She tried tamping down on the bond but it kept slipping away from her. Finally Jae did it for her, slamming that mental door closed. That was almost worse. She could still feel the bond there but could feel nothing from him and it terrified her even more.

Garlan and two men in Tyrell livery burst into her room, swords drawn. “Margaery, what’s happened?” They all looked around confused by the lack of danger.

She took control of her voice, she was Margaery Tyrell of House Targaryen and she would not fall to pieces in a crisis. “It’s Jae, he’s in the crypts and there’s been a fire. I think he was attacked. I think he’s still there,” her voice stayed steady through to the last word, where it finally cracked. Garlan and the guards rushed out of the room, grabbing more men along the way as they raced to the crypts. Margaery followed in her night dress and bridal cloak,quickly shoving on a pair of ankle boots.

One of the Tyrell men must have broken off to inform Lord Stark because he and Robb came running a minute later, shouting orders for water. There was a maester with them, which confused her because he was not the one she’d seen before, the man was older than Maester Luwin by a few decades at least. Lord Bolton and Domeric weren’t far behind, likely hearing the commotion and coming to investigate. And there, running from the servant quarters was Princess Lyanna. It didn’t take her long to put two and two together, Margaery standing there looking frantic, smoke and fire and shouts rising from the door to the crypts, the place her son went to visit every night. Lyanna stopped dead, dropped to her knees and let out a guttural cry. Margaery made her way over to her, pulling her into an embrace and holding her tightly.

“He’s alive. He’s alive, Lyanna. I can still feel the bond, it feels just as strong as it did this morning.” She rubbed her goodmother’s back, tried to sound soothing even though she wanted to scream to the heavens with her, “He spoke to me, he said there’s a fire in the crypts, and that he was attacked.”

She looked up at that, “So this wasn’t an accident then? Gods! GET MY SON OUT OF THERE!” she bellowed.

Well, looks like that secret was well and truly done. Luckily most lords had left that morning, hungover but wanting to get back home. The only ones remaining were the Manderlys, Mormonts, Boltons and Dustins. Roose was staring at them now, realisation dawning on his face. This was too much, what was she supposed to do? Where was her grandmother?!

She gasped as she felt a sharp pain in her side, it felt so real she even looked to check she wasn’t bleeding. After that one sharp slice of pain the bond went silent again. She started shaking, terrified. She couldn’t lose him, she couldn’t die. The gods could not mean to give them to each other, to set them on a path to the throne only to snatch their lives so quickly. She tried to control herself, it would only cause Lyanna to further descend into panic and panicking helped no one. Though out here they could do nothing to help anyway. The thought was bitter.

She forced herself to focus on those around her and noticed Wyman, Roose, and Maege as they came to stand with them. Roose looking between them all. He looked a bit put out that the others knew but his face quickly morphed back into its usual standard bored mask. He looked away from her, his usually blank face coming alive in shock and it was not at the woman miraculously back from the dead.

Margaery turned and saw Domeric Bolton running out from behind the wall next to the crypts, carrying a small person with brown hair. Carrying Arya Stark who was as limp as a ragdoll held tightly in his arms. Margaery rushed to meet him, Lord Bolton right behind her. She cried in relief when she realised her new ward and sister was unconscious but breathing steadily. They called over a Winterfell guard and had him take Arya to the maester’s tower, she saw Jonelle Stark holding a distraught Sansa’s arm following along after them, her babe clutched tightly to her chest in her other arm.

She walked back over to where Lyanna had been and saw her mother, grandmother, father and Willas had arrived. Both Garlan and Loras had joined in to help put out the flames. She’d had to tell Loras the truth before the wedding at Moat Cailin. It’d gone better than she’d expected. And though he seemed conflicted, once she’d explained to him the severity of the situation he’d become resolute. Margaery had thought it was too risky for him to be near Renly. She’d hoped he’d go back to the Reach with Willas. He and her grandmother had disagreed. Her grandmother hoped Loras could work on Renly so that when the time came he’d side with them against his own brother and nephew. Renly had no love for any of the golden haired royals, though he thought Myrcella and Tommen were nice enough. He wasn’t close to Robert and was outright hostile to Stannis. Margaery wasn’t convinced that meant he’d betray them, she hoped desperately that this plan didn’t bite them all in the ass. He had at least sworn that he’d not tell Renly the truth, gods willing he’d keep that vow.

They’d only just gotten the door put out enough to open and smoke was billowing out in dense clouds. It felt like an eternity since she’d first felt Jaehaerys’ fear, but it could’ve only been a quarter of an hour or so. She was worried and wished he would let her know he was alright. She sent her fear at him as hard as she could and she could almost feel him wince. There was some pain from him now, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was a full minute before she felt a wave of relief that echoed her own at knowing he was alive. That it wasn’t him screaming so horribly. Shortly after she was stunned by his pure astonishment. He was amazed by something, delighted even, which for someone in a burning crypt seemed an odd combination of emotions. 

The men were trying to enter but it was still too hot and she could see flames flickering farther in. She closed her eyes and took five deep breaths to calm herself, to remind herself though she couldn’t see him, he was alive.

She heard Lyanna gasp, and looked up to see a dark figure walking through the smoke and out of the crypts.

………..

Arya

………..

She had been having a great day, she was getting her things ready for the journey to King’s Landing and Highgarden and it wasn’t the miserable chore she’d been expecting. Margaery’s mother Alerie had helped her greatly and was only mildly exasperated by Arya’s folding. Most of her things were already packed from when she’d readied for the original trip south but Margaery and her mother had instructed Arya to divide her things up so that the bulk of it could continue on to Highgarden with Willas. He’d wanted to see his sister’s wedding in the sept but they hadn’t planned to leave Highgarden for so long, and travel was painful for him with that twisted leg of his. It was odd, the rest of his family hated the infamous Red Viper for being the one to knock him from his saddle but Willas spoke of the man as a dear friend. Arya hoped to meet him one day, he sounded like the type of prince she enjoyed, like the Rogue Prince, not like Joffrey who likely couldn’t even hold a sword properly and looked prettier than Sansa. She snickered imaging him in one of the queen’s ridiculous gowns.

She’d been roaming around Winterfell after supper, saying goodbye again when she’d seen the man. She had seen him the day prior but figured he was with one of the visiting lords, despite how dirty he looked. She was questioning her judgement now. Up ahead she saw her brother Jon entering the crypts, like he seemed to do every night, and the man was following after him! The crypts were for Starks only, not whoever this dirty man was. 

Arya ran to catch up to him, calling out, “You’re not a Stark! You can’t go in there, you stupid. I’ll tell my father!” She wished she had Needle on her but her sword had been packed away for the journey. More than needle, she wished for Nymeria, she was still a pup but Arya was sure she could take down this scraggly man. She reminded herself that she is a wolf too and continued forward on her course. This person would not go into her family’s resting place, he would not get near her big brother.

She squeaked as the man turned around and grabbed her roughly by the neck, his rancid breath choking her as much as his hands at her throat. “Quiet,” he whispered furiously before he turned to the nearest wall. She felt her head bash against the wall behind her, warm blood mixing with her hair, and tears falling rapidly down her cheeks. She couldn’t die, she was too young, there was still so much to do. Why hadn’t she insisted on keeping Needle? Why had she let Nymeria out for one of her last hunts with all her pack? Her last thought was of her direwolf before she felt another blow rain down on her temple, and then she knew no more.

…...

She awoke in the maester’s tower and groaned, her head throbbed so violently that her vision blurred. She felt someone holding her hand, and looked up to see a crying Sansa. Who oddly started crying harder once she realised Arya had awoken. A moment later Luwin was in front of her, she looked between the two in confusion for a few moments before she remembered what had happened.

“Luwin, get help, please! That stinky man was after Jon, he was following him to the crypts!” She tried to sit up but was overcome by dizziness. She pulled her hands from Sansa’s, reaching for the maester’s frantically.

“Shhh, Lady Arya,” he soothed. “They’re working on it now, I’m sure your brother will be fine and there’s nothing any of us here can do but wait.” 

She could tell he was lying, he was not sure Jon would be alright at all, and she started crying again. She couldn’t lose Jon, she’d rather die. Why was this happening? How could anyone want to hurt her brother? It wasn’t fair. She didn’t protest as Luwin handed her a sweet smelling tisane. She drank it down greedily, soothing her throat. It wasn’t long before she felt warm all over, as if she was floating on clouds. She tried at first to fight her drooping eyes, but quickly forgot why and surrendered to sleep, her sister still weeping softly beside her.

…………

Jaehaerys

……….

He’d taken to spending time in the crypts each night, just to check on the eggs. His sister had been right, though he’d held out two days before he’d started sleeping with his. Every night since they’d been in Winterfell he’d felt compelled to place a few drops of his blood on each. He couldn’t explain why and he worried it was the Targaryen madness manifesting. No matter what he thought, he’d get no peace unless he cut a small line on his outer wrist and watered the eggs with his blood. Each of the eggs absorbed the fluid in a way that should not have been possible with how hard the shells were. But it also should’ve been impossible for he and his sister to feel warmth and movement from them while both his mother and cousin had found them cold as stone.

Tonight the urging had been even greater, and last night it had been so great he’d left his new wife sleeping in their bed while he slipped out into the cold. He’d noticed the crypts had smelled odd now though, something familiar that he couldn’t place. He’d dismissed it and taken the eggs from their chest in his mother’s very much empty tomb. He was just getting ready to put them away and leave when he’d heard the door to the crypts open.

He hoped it was his mother or one of his uncles, even Ned, but had a feeling it was not. He’d known he wouldn’t be able to keep this secret from his Stark siblings forever, but thought he’d make it at least till tomorrow night when he planned to tell Robb. Uncle Ned had begged him not to, but Jae wasn’t inclined to do the man any favours and Robb deserved to know, all of it. He’d even gotten permission from Alaric to use his discretion and tell Robb if he thought it best. He knew his brother, he also knew what being lied to about something so life changing was like and couldn’t play a part in that. It was both dishonourable and unfair to both Robb and Alaric.

He looked up and realised his mistake in assuming it was Robb or another of the Starks. He’d been resigned to coming clean to any of them but this man was no Stark. The brown haired man wasn’t smiling but he didn’t appear friendly either, his face looked menacing in the shadows cast by the torch in his hand.

“I’m sorry milord, I’ve nothing against you but my lord commanded me and will care for my wife and sick son if I do this for him.” The man’s accent was not Northern, though it was harder to place since he’d never been around any commoners from other kingdoms, and the man was definitely lowborn.

“You don’t want to do this. I’m Marked, the gods𑁋” Jae tried to reason with the catspaw but the man wasn’t having it. Shit, why did I leave my bloody sword in my rooms? Better everyone recognize Dark Sister than be dead! For that had been his gift from his Great Uncle Aemon. He should’ve just worn a common sword but he’d grown used to the thin blade and hadn’t thought he’d need one in Winterfell of all places.

The man shook his head, talking over Jaehaerys, the knife in his right hand glinting, “No, no, no. Milord told me it was your demon gods that marked you. The true gods will reward me or at least protect me family.”

His would be murderer finally looked down and saw the eggs. “And what do we have ‘ere?”

“Something you will never have. You’ll die with me before you take them.” Jae meant it. He lunged at the man, hitting him hard in the shoulder, throwing him off balance. It was pure luck for the man that his knife sliced through Jae’s side, cutting through his linen shirt easily. Blood sprayed over the eggs, walls and stone floor. The wound bled much, despite it not feeling very deep. Luckily for him the man did drop his torch, Jae did not like the thought of being burned. He should’ve run for the door then but he would not, could not leave his and his siblings’ eggs. 

The cutthroat scrambled to get it back, but Jae easily kicked it away. The man screamed in fear, trying to scurry away on hands and knees. His eyes were wild, white with terror. It took a moment for Jaehaerys to understand, when the floor erupted into flames all along the sides he finally realised the scent he couldn’t place was pitch. The fire raced along until flames blocked the way to the door and along the stairs to the lower level. Well, at least if he had to die, he’d take this fool with him. The main pathway hadn’t been primed, for it would’ve given the plot up as soon as Jae entered. He was honestly baffled as to what the man’s plan had been. Death by smoke inhalation?

Jae dropped to his knees, he hadn’t realised the power of the emotions he was sending to his wife until her undistilled terror had hit him like a sledgehammer. He sent the basics of what was happening to her, and then with the power of his adrenaline, slammed the door to his mind shut. He’d forgotten until then, but if he were to die, she would perish with him. He would not allow that to happen.

He focused back on his would be assassin. The man was trying to escape back up the stairs, only to jump back each time he brushed the flames. He’d need to kill him before he could escape this inferno. The smoke was getting thick and they likely didn’t have much time. The flames were starting to eat up the wooden support beams. Even as he thought it one by the stairs started groaning. A piece of it crashed down on the man’s head faster then Jae could blink, sending him sprawling. He dashed forward, lifted the beam from where it’d landed on his chest and pulled the man back, unsure why but placing his unconscious body next to the bright eggs. He didn’t notice until he’d finished but his hands had no burns, the wood had still been lit and smoking when he’d grabbed it. Come to think of it, this man was breathing heavily and completely pale. The only difference to the air Jaehaerys had noticed was the smell.

Something was happening and he knew, he knew through some instinctual part of him that it had to do with the eggs. He quickly took off his belt and used it to tie the man’s wrists tightly behind his back. He didn’t seem likely to wake up soon, but he’d not risk it. He then took off his shirt and bound it around his waist, hoping to staunch the bleeding. It had settled to a trickle, the man must’ve nicked something, but it did not seem very deep. 

He felt a pull then and stumbled over to the crypt wall, down at the end by the stairs to the next level. Barely even flinching as he walked through a thick wall of flames. He noticed a loose stone and pulled it aside. He wasn’t even truly shocked when he saw the two oval shapes within. He grabbed them and walked back to the little pile he’d made and added them on. 

He could hear screaming and shouting from outside. It brought him out of his daze for a moment before he started gathering the smallest pieces of wood that had broken off and placed them on and around the man and eggs. He had just thrown another torch on the man, causing him to finally wake up and scream when he was again hit by a blast of his wife’s fear and worry. He took on a sheepish expression at that. She must be terrified and he’d not thought to reassure her.

He let her know he was okay while he watched the man burn. His screams were horrific and despite this man trying to consign Jae to this fate as well, he still felt guilty and ill. What am I doing?! Am I turning into my grandfather? The thought was momentarily wiped from his mind as the man’s screaming broke off. On the heel of it came a loud *CRACK*. The first was followed quickly by four more. He almost fainted both from his disbelief and the adrenaline and otherworldly presence fleeing him.

All five creatures started to make their ungainly way towards him. They were the size of small cats but their scales were as bright and colourful as any jewel he’d ever seen. Four of the creatures walked on two legs, using small hooks at the end of their wings for balance. They reminded him a bit of bats. The biggest dragon walked on four legs, it’s wings tucked in tightly to its sides. It got to him quicker than the others and immediately climbed up his leg before settling on his shoulder. Jae turned and looked it in it’s red eyes, so similar to Ghost. He even felt a new presence in the back of his mind, fitting in like a missing puzzle piece. 

The feelings he got from the creature felt more wild than with Ghost. More intelligent as well, and that was saying something. There was a bloodthirsty and ruthless undertone that made Jae nervous. The creature itself was beautiful though, dark red with opalescent scales gracing its wings and horns. He even felt the creature preen a bit at his attention.

He was ripped from his thoughts as he felt another set of claws digging into his legs, he was happy to see he still had his small clothes, though they were filled with quite a few holes and did nothing to spare his legs from sharp claws. The shirt he’d wrapped around his waist was nowhere to be found. His wound was no longer bleeding but he was still smeared with blood and soot, a ghastly sight.

He watched in amazement as the rest of them crawled onto his body. The one that looked like a living fire, all orange and red swirls took his other shoulder. Two jumped into his arms where he cradled them like babes. The one in his right was the inverse of the one sitting proudly on that shoulder, pearly white with little accents of bloody red. It was his brother’s dragon, from his brother’s egg. It was the closest he’d ever felt to his lost big brother and he felt tears stinging in his eyes, and it wasn’t from the smoke.

The little beast in his left arm was from one of the eggs he’d just found in the stone wall. It reminded him of a winter rose, palest blue with whitest frost. The last dragon clung to his hip, he flinched in pain when it dug its claws into the remainder of his small clothes. That one was the brightest of them all, a perfect blend of glimmering gold and shining silver.

As he started his walk out of the burning crypts and out into the night, the dragons started to sing, a burning red comet lighting up the night sky above.

………

Robb

……..

Sweat was covering him, ash coating his hair, he was so tired from running and getting water with a bucket that he could barely breathe. But he couldn’t stop. His brother was down there, he’d not stop until he was either safe or Robb had seen his body. 

He and his father had been talking inside his solar about his duties once he became acting lord of Winterfell when they’d been interrupted by a man in a grubby cloak. When he'd looked closer he could see a maester chain beneath said cloak. The old man was frantic. Speaking madness about his grandfather, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands being insane enough to try to murder a Marked man, son of the Warden of the North. An action which would kill his Marked wife, daughter of the Warden of the South! It couldn’t be true. He knew his mother’s family saw Jon as a stain on their honour but slaying his kin’s kin was a few steps too far. His father had paled as soon as he’d seen the maester’s face. As if he recognised him. He’d paled further when the man had mentioned a warning he’d sent and started hurriedly checking his desk. 

Robb was trying to get the man, who claimed to be a Maester Vyman, the Riverrun maester since his mother was a girl, to calm down and speak sense. No matter what the man claimed however, Robb would not believe it.

At least that was what he’d thought before the man in Tyrell livery had rushed in. He was the second distressed, uninvited visitor to his father’s solar in minutes, however he’d believed this one. Especially because he mentioned the Lady Margaery had been the one to inform them of the situation. Soulmarks were powerful and it was well known that feelings could be shared between Marks. It was less well known that Marks could apparently speak through their bond, Robb hadn’t doubted it though and rushed to the crypts, his father coming after him but a moment later, after quickly ordering one of the Winterfell men to show the maester to a guest chamber and keep him there.

That had brought him here. Sweating and working more urgently than he’d ever had need of before. Everyone who could help, was helping. Arthur Dayne and Uncle Benjen were working in tandem like men possessed. Father was bellowing orders and looked more scared than Robb had ever seen him. Even Theon had been running himself ragged hauling water. He was grateful to the Ironborn and equally surprised. His friend and his brother had never gotten on well. When he’d said so to Theon, the Greyjoy heir had looked offended. “I may not like the sullen bastard much, but that doesn’t mean I want him dead!” Then he’d run off to get more water, leaving Robb gaping in his wake. 

Well, most everyone was helping, not Lord Bolton, he was just standing there with Lord Manderly, Lady Maege, his new good sister and some woman who was kneeling on the stones of the courtyard sobbing. She looked familiar despite his certainty that he had never seen her before. Maybe it was her husband who was fool enough to attack his brother? They’d need to keep an eye on her. 

The flames were coming up through the cracks around the ironwood door. The door itself wasn’t burning, ironwood did not burn easily. But it was so hot they couldn’t touch it without melting skin. Once they’d gotten the fire to stop roaring through the cracks around it Mikken stepped forward, using the special gloves he wore when working with molten metal and wrenched the door open before jumping away. Dense clouds of smoke billowed out, stinging his eyes even more and setting him to coughing. 

Robb turned away, needing a breath of air that didn’t burn his lungs or make his eyes water. The screaming had cut off a minute ago and he wasn’t sure whether it was a relief or not. He looked up at the sky, to send up a prayer to the Old Gods and New and stumbled back in shock, there streaking across the sky was a flaming crimson star. He’d never seen the like, he’d never even heard of such a thing. The world was turning into a stranger and stranger place and he couldn’t shake the feeling it was only going to grow even more unfamiliar.

His head jerked back towards the door, there was an odd shrieking sound echoing out of it. It didn’t sound like any noise a man could make, more like something from an animal and from the sounds of it more than one. Underneath that he could hear the sound of steps coming up the twisting stairs of the crypts. He was scared, he could admit that in his mind, he wasn’t sure what could survive such a fire but didn’t think it was his brother. Especially with those ear splitting cries.

He was shocked stupid when the figure stepped out of the crypts. At first he could only see an odd man-shaped shadow. Once it had cleared the smoke he could see his brother. He was covered in soot and blood, his shirt and pants were missing but it was undeniably Jon. He took a step towards him but his feet faltered when he noticed what was clinging to his brother. They looked like winged lizards, they looked like dragons. Those awful noises were the victorious cries of five baby dragons. For with their wings, scales and horns they could be naught else. The ones on his shoulders were the loudest. The orange and red beast stood tall, flapping its wings, the red and white lunged forward threateningly. How does my bastard brother have dragons? Was his mother Valyrian? He looked towards his father, who was as still as he was. His face was odd, not the shock that was written so clearly, but the undiluted fear there. The creatures were no bigger than cats, not much to be afraid of. 

Then Robb got it, he was scared of Robert Baratheon. When he heard of his brother having dragons, he’d stop at nothing to have his brother killed. It wouldn’t matter that Jon was his best friend’s son. Nothing would stop him from killing the dragons and Jon. Robb wasn’t deaf he’d heard how the king had practically spit on the murdered prince and princesses, dismissing them as dragonspawn. Admittedly he’d only learned of that piece recently, he’d overheard his Uncle Benjen chewing his father out over it. Lord Stark had said nothing in denial. Robb believed it after seeing the king and his cold wife and arrogant son. He hadn’t been able to believe that man was the same as the one in all the tales his father had raised them on. It had been disappointing to say the least and had chipped away at some of his respect for his father. As had the way the king shamed his wife and used their servants, while the Honourable Eddard Stark had sat there and done nothing.

Those people, the entire royal family and Tywin Lannister himself would be baying for Jon’s blood. When this got out, there would be war.

‘Well,; Robb thought, ‘Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister will have to go through me and the entire North before they would get their hands on Jon.’ The North would not let one of their own fall to lions or stags. And Jon has been well loved and respected in the North for a long time. Jon who was still just standing there, as frozen as Robb and their father and seemingly everyone else was.

He saw a blur out of the corner of his eye and realised not everyone was struck dumb. Margaery Tyrell and that woman who’d been knelt weeping on the ground raced towards Jon, dragons clutching to him and all. 

Robb got his next, and likely not final shock of the night as the woman called out, “Jaehaerys, oh gods, my son!”

Margaery yelled out for everyone to stop being idiots and to get her husband a damn cloak. Robb quickly removed his and finally walked to Jon, handing Margaery his cloak. She could figure out how to get it on him, Robb wasn’t getting any closer to those things than necessary. She passed it along to her husband and he found a way to wrap himself in it. Ser Arthur had no fear either and came to stand on Jon’s left, the awe and wonder evident in his widened violet eyes. The man looked away after a moment, placing his hand on Dawn’s pommel and scanning the crowd intently as if searching out threats.

After Jon was well covered Margaery turned to the gathered crowd, Robb looked too and oddly saw Maege Mormont, Wyman Manderly and Roose bloody Bolton on their knees, as well as the Tyrells and their men. 

She motioned for them to rise and then spoke with the authority of a queen. “Everyone, thank you so much for your aid in rescuing my husband, and myself in the process. We cannot express the depth of our gratitude and shall reward your service as best we can. Please, go back to your families now, we must get my Marked to the bath,” she said the last bit teasingly, with the hint of a laugh. Her expression became like ice in the next moment, pausing her speech, looking to seemingly each person in turn. “I hope we can count on you to not mention what you’ve seen here tonight. It would put us all, the entirety of the North and Reach in grave danger. None so much as me and my husband, the gods themselves have chosen us and will not take kindly to any who place us in danger. Please, go home and rest, we will answer your questions on the morrow.”

She then guided Jon forwards, back into the castle and towards the guest wing. The wolves finally arrived back from their hunt, rushing in after them, Nymeria and Lady cutting off in the direction of the Maester’s Tower, Uncle Benjen following behind after giving Jon a very awkward and quick hug. That woman, The one who’d claimed to be Jon’s mother walked with them. His father and the Tyrells following behind. Roose Bolton had looked like he’d wanted to come too but Domeric’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

As they walked, the woman, whom he now saw had the grey eyes of the Starks, said the second oddest thing Robb had heard that night. “You’ve done it! You’ve actually done, your father was right. You’ve birthed the dragons from stone beneath a bleeding star!”

Jon just nodded dumbly before entering the solar the Tyrells shared. Once they were all inside, Jon gently set the dragons down. The little things rushing over unsteadily to sniff at Ghost. All of them except the blood red one turned their noses up and walked away, climbing into the fireplace before curling into a heap of dragons. Grey Wind followed to sniff at them himself but they hissed and snapped at him so furiously even he backed away.

His brother slipped into his room, stating he’d like to put on some clothes at least since he was being denied a bath. Margaery had promised to order one for after they’d all spoken before he’d agreed. Robb took the chance to address Jon’s supposed mother.

“Who are you? Are you truly Jon’s mother?” She didn’t look Valyrian and she’d claimed his father had known this would happen, looked forward to it even. Looking at their father now, he couldn’t imagine he’d ever found this a happy possibility. He’d be inclined to believe her a mummer but her fear and relief had been too real, and if she were wouldn’t Ned Stark have kicked her out on her arse by now?

She was still shaking but looked at him with pity then. The Tyrells all took seats, speaking quietly to each other. It appeared they at least knew her, Robb couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt and jealous of that. Robb used to be the one he spoke to, told his secrets as they were to, yet he’d kept something as huge as this from him?

“Yes,” she started. “I’m his mother. I’m also your aunt, my name is Lyanna Stark.”

Robb’s eyes widened so much it likely would’ve been comical in any other situation. He turned to his father, expecting him to erupt in fury at this woman’s horrible lie. Father would never have lied about his sister’s death, and he’d certainly never make a child with her. “Is this true, father?”

Ned nodded his head, opened his mouth and shut it again.

“What my dear brother,” she began sarcastically, “is trying but failing to tell you is that he stole my trueborn son and raised him as your bastard brother. Isn’t that right, Ned”

His father just nodded glumly.

“Jon’s trueborn?” It was likely the least relevant part but he knew how much being a bastard had hurt his brother, and while put out and thrown off balance he was still glad for him in this.

“Yes.”

And then, his Aunt Lyanna Stark told him and Theon the story of Harrenhal, her marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen, lost letters and southron plots. He could barely breathe by the end of it and he knew there was a lot she’d left out. He felt like the world was spinning wildly, the ground beneath him quaking but he knew it was only him.

Theon broke him out of his stupor for a moment, incredulously asking her, “You expect me to believe Jon Snow is the rightful king?” And laughed. It was a mistake.

“He is Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of His Name. Or did you miss the Three Headed Dragon emblazoned on his chest by the gods themselves?” Robb had not noticed it himself and blushed just as much as Theon, who promptly shut his mouth.

“Also, I believe this is a family matter. You’re a hostage, not family.” She turned and addressed his father directly for the first time, “Ned, I think...Theon should be confined to his quarters until we can ascertain that he’ll hold this secret.. Balon Greyjoy knowing this truth before we’re ready is one of many on a long list of things we do not want to come to pass.”

Robb bristled at that, Theon was his brother in all but name. He’d never betray them. Though he did agree he could do without Theon’s jokes at the moment and this was a matter for the Starks...and Tyrells he supposed. He’d just visit him after. He squeezed his friend’s shoulder and mouthed ‘later’ to him.

His father called in Jory and gave him the command. Though he didn’t look happy about being ordered about himself, it was probably galling to be commanded in your own castle by your little sister. Robb walked over to the Tyrells, grabbed a goblet out of Garlan’s dirty hands and chugged it in one gulp. Sputtering after as he was not used to wine, but he didn’t see any ale handy so it’d have to do. He poured himself another, ignoring the Tyrells amused faces and his father’s embarrassed mien. His aunt outright laughed as he took his goblet and walked over to a chair by the desk, sitting roughly. He needed to think. 

How could his father do this? Lyanna seemed a handful but she was his sister, Jon...Jaehaerys, whatever his name,was his nephew. Blood came first and he could not even contemplate doing such a thing to one of his own sisters. He looked up at his father. His disappointment must’ve been clear for father couldn’t even hold eye contact with him. He understood not wanting to go to war again, especially not right away but that didn’t excuse his actions. It didn’t excuse how he’d allowed Robb’s mother to treat Jon. Oh gods, his mother. Her father had done this!

Robb was yanked from his musings by his brother, for he’d always be his brother, and his good sister re-entering the room. He was dressed in a red linen shirt and loose black linen pants. Robb stared at the three-headed dragon emblazoned over a black patch of fabric on his chest. Looking at his brother, with his dark purple eyes and in Targaryen colours made the truth harder to deny.

He shook his head, he needed to focus and the most important thing at the moment was the attack on... Jae. He questioned his father, “Where is that maester? He tried to warn us about this, twice if he’s to be believed. Though I don’t recall any letter.”

Everyone else looked to Lord Stark at that. “Uncle, what is he talking about?”

His father didn’t answer Jaehaerys, just went to the door and ordered the old maester to be brought to them. While they waited, his father explained what he knew.

“A few days ago I received a raven. It was not signed, and sealed only with a glob of blue wax.. It said ‘Keep an eye on the Marked pair.” He sighed. “I didn’t believe it credible or even a threat, not with so little information and no signature. I increased the guard presence around Winterfell and put it to the back of my mind.”

Robb shook his head and took another sip of wine, he was starting to enjoy the taste more, so there was that. How could his father not at least inform them?

Arthur Dayne stepped forward, hand on his pommel, death in his eyes. Robb moved to stop him but his aunt beat him to it. Putting one hand on his chest before rushing forward herself and slapping her brother harder than he knew a lady could hit. “How dare you? You’re lucky Benjen is with Sansa and Arya. You’re lucky I’m here to stop Arthur from separating your head from your neck! You should’ve told us, no matter what you thought.”

Ned Stark looked suitably chastened but spoke up in defense of himself. “Lya, Jon, you have to believe me that I did not desire this to happen. The letter was so vague and seemed harmless. I put extra guards out to be cautious and figured we were leaving soon enough it would make no matter. I’d planned on telling you all today but was distracted by seeing off the bannermen and planning our trip.”

His father looked so sincere that Robb couldn’t doubt him, looking to his brother/cousin he saw he didn’t either. Lyanna Stark and Arthur Dayne were a different matter. 

Luckily Jae jumped to his father’s if not defence than something similar. “ Enough. We have more important matters to discuss. I want to hear what this maester has to say.”

He couldn’t believe how authoritative he sounded, when the Jon he knew never exerted any sort of authority. It was as if the gods themselves would do his bidding. It appeared they just might when Vyman entered after a short knock, Luwin surprisingly with him.

“Lord Stark. Good, I just wanted to let you know the Lady Arya is well. She may have a mild concussion but seemed herself when she woke for a few moments. She’s back to sleep, the Lady Sansa is laying with her.” Luwin informed them quickly.

All three Stark men in the room jerked at that. Jon speaking first, “What happened to my sister?”

The fact that none of them had known became readily apparent to Luwin. Surprisingly it was Margaery who spoke. “A few minutes after you all started fighting the fire, Ser Domeric found Lady Arya unconscious outside one of the buildings by the crypts. He handed her off to a Stark guardsman to take to Luwin here. I forgot to mention it in light of...well, dragons existing again.”

Both maesters started sputtering at that. The look on all of their faces must’ve cautioned them against dragging their attention away from Arya.

“Yes. She has a nasty cut on the back of her head and bruising on her temple. In light of the attack on Lord Jon, I find it likely they’re connected.”

Jon himself erupted at that, “I’ll burn that piece of shit alive again! And whoever else played a part in this!”

Robb wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t want to help Jae act out these plans, no matter how horrifying it was. His father’s face became troubled however. “Are you to be your mad grandfather now, Jon?” He asked.

Even Robb knew what a stupid, if not valid question that was. It was Arthur who spoke now. “You know nothing of Aerys, Lord Stark. He burned people, innocent people, for the pure joy of it. It aroused him, he’d rape the queen after each burning. Covering her in livid bites and scratches. Never again compare King Jaehaerys to him in my hearing, or it will be the last time you have a tongue to do so.”

The maesters gasped again and Robb was thoroughly exasperated with this entire shit show.

“While that’s… interesting can we please move on?” Robb asked awkwardly and Lady Olenna snorted into her wine. Robb did not want to implicate his mother’s family, he knew it would mean death for any involved in this plot and while he was furious, he couldn’t help but be torn. On one hand it was justice, and Jon or Jae or whoever he is, is his brother. On the other… What if his mother had a part in this? He wanted to not think her capable but she’d been steadily growing more unhinged where it came to her husband’s supposed bastard that he couldn’t be certain. 

But I’m the end, it didn’t really matter, they would find out in a few moments no matter what Robb did and he’d rather not deny them the truth just to turn their ire on him. “Maester Vyman, please tell everyone what you told me and my father before all the chaos broke out.”

Everyone but Sers Arthur and Garlan found a seat, both of them taking up guard by the door. After everyone was as settled as they could be the old man started his tale. 

“As I told Lord Stark and Lord Robb, I came here due to my previous Lord’s foolish plot to kill a Marked man.” He exhaled, looking conflicted. Robb supposed his loyalty to Lord Tully was kicking in now that his adrenaline was gone.

“Three sennights ago Lord Hoster Tully sent a man with the intention of murdering Lord Jon. He has recently taken ill and I fear it has affected nothing so much as his mind. He was concerned Lord Jon and his good family would attempt to usurp Lord Robb’s rightful place.”

Robb and Jon both let out a snort at that. The idea was ludicrous.

Lady Olenna made her presence felt then, “If this was ordered almost a moon ago, why are you only here now?”

The man bristled, “I had to wait a solid fortnight before I could leave without raising suspicion, Lord Tully knew I was against this course and was watching me closely. As soon as I was able, I sent the raven. I’d hoped it would be enough.” He took a breath and carried on, “I had not thought I’d arrive in time, I’m amazed I was so close. If the guards at the gate had brought me to Lord Stark more promptly perhaps this could’ve been avoided,” he looked pointedly at the dragons, a look not missed by the only Targaryen in the room.

“It appears the man took even longer getting here than I expected, likely didn’t have a horse. I know I didn’t supply him one, despite my lord’s wishes. Then he must’ve looked around and planned. He was under strict orders not to harm one of Lady Stark’s children and to try to make it look natural.”

“Yes, well he failed on all counts, didn’t he?” Olenna interjected caustically.

His father, who’d been sitting there stunned, shaking his head posed his own question, “Was my Lady Wife a part of this...plot?”

Lady—Princess Lyanna, stood at that and started pacing the room. “Of course that fish bitch had something to do with it Ned! She hates my son and has no doubt prayed for his death from the moment she saw him.”

Robb was the one who bristled at that, though he couldn’t truly blame the woman for her anger.

“That is the Lady of Winterfell you’re speaking of, Lyanna! I won’t hear her disrespected.”

The woman in question snorted loudly, promptly dismissing the Warden of the North and turned to Vyman, “Well, maester? Did Lady Catelyn know of this?”

“I...I could not say, my lady,” he stuttered. “I only know she was in his solar with him before he ordered me to go ahead with this, but ordered her out as I entered. If she knew she said nothing of it to me. One thing I am certain of is that Lord Edmure has no idea.”

“And why do you say that when you won’t say the same of my mother?” 

He bit his lip, answering, “Because the lord complained bitterly that his son was weak and stupid. That he thought his father and sister were mad in their fear over the bastard,” at Robb’s glare he amended his statement. “Their words, not mine. I meant no offense, my lords.”

“Well Ned, what are you going to do? Your wife’s father, if not her herself have tried to murder your nephew. What are you going to do?”

His father hung his head, “I’ll do what is just, Lyanna. On our way to King’s Landing we’ll stop at Riverrun as planned. I’ll find out the truth from my good father and wife and take whomever is guilty to the king for justice.”

The only people in the room mollified by that were himself and Maester Vyman.

“I think you’ll get no justice that way, Lord Stark. You have all the evidence necessary to convict Lord Tully. Much of that evidence depends on a maester we do not know, who has years of loyalty to my enemy to contend with. We can’t be certain if we brought him before Baratheon that he’d keep my existence quiet.”

The maester looked extremely insulted but Robb knew his brother was right. Trusting him was foolish. Perhaps they could get a signed statement? He’d think on it more later.

“Even if we could be certain of Vyman here, I doubt Tully will leave his home willingly and neither myself nor my wife will set foot in or near that castle.” He paused looking apologetically at Robb before setting his hard purple eyes on father. “At least not until my dragons are big enough to melt stone.”

Robb felt chills race down his spine, his father and the maesters paling even further. Vyman actually started shaking in fear. Luwin came out of it more quickly, changing the subject from fiery threats, to fiery lizards. 

“Are there truly dragons again, my lord? May I see them?”

Jae looked at the man and laughed. “Can it wait till the morning? I’d like a bath maester and then I need to speak with my brother, alone.”

After that everyone cleared out quickly, only Aunt Lyanna and Lady Margaery staying behind. Before the maesters left his good sister again reminded them to keep all they knew to themselves and how dire the consequences for not doing so would be. Robb quickly ordered no ravens to be sent out without his or his father’s permission. His aunt stepped in to say her’s or Jaehaerys’ permission would be needed as well and that they’d do full accountings on the ravens in the morning. Maester Luwin offered to lock the ravenry up and swore he’d bring the only key to Lord Stark. His aunt only looked slightly appeased by that statement but accepted she’d not be getting the key with very little grace. 

Even the other Tyrells cleared out to their own chambers. After all the excitement it appeared everyone was as tired as Robb now felt. Though with how his stomach was churning and mind spinning he doubted he’d sleep any time soon. He’d never been so horrified or ashamed of his blood. And then there was his amazement at the dragons and relief for his brother being alive. It was too much for one man to deal with, and the wine he’d chugged was not helping anything.

“Nephew, I’m sure you can go clean up yourself. Just come back when you’re finished. There’s still much you and my son need to discuss.”

Robb just nodded absentmindedly and made his way to his chambers. Freshening up as slowly as he could, putting off what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation. Even as he walked he could feel the dread twisting and growing in his stomach.

When he re-entered the solar only Jae was waiting for him, sitting at a small table with two glasses of ale on it. The largest dragon, the red one with four limbs was back on his shoulder. It appeared to be sleeping, curled up as it was, its long tail wrapped around its father’s neck.

Father of Dragons, that’s what they’ll call him, once this is known, The Unburnt. Along with King his brother was really going to rack up titles it seemed. He’d already heard people whispering of Jon and Margaery being ‘Gods’ Blessed’..

He kept his eyes on the sleeping creature a moment longer before turning to his brother’s uncanny eyes. “Have you named it yet?”

Jae’s lip quirked, as if he knew Robb was stalling and was amused by it. But he eagerly aided him and it worried Robb that he was also dreading having this conversation. “Yes. This one is mine and I’ve named him Rhaegon, after my father and brother.”

It was weird to think of Jon as having a different father, another brother and both unrelated to Robb. ‘But he’s not truly Jon either, he’s Jaehaerys,’ Robb needed to remember that. Though he hoped he was still mainly the almost twin he’d grown up with. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sure they’d both be honoured by the name, Jo--Jae.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry as well for that, it’s not easy calling or thinking of you as Jaehaerys. You’ve always been Jon, my brother.”

Jaehaerys’ face softened at that. He reached over the small table and grasped Robb’s free hand tightly. “I will always be your brother, Robb.” He squeezed his hand once before letting go. The confident man he’d seen all night disappeared and the brother he remembered sat before him, fidgeting with uncertainty. “So long as you’ll have me that is.”

Robb could answer that easily, “You will always have me. Whether you’re Jon or Jaehaerys, bastard or king.” He reached over himself and patted his brother’s hand. “Though do you mind if I continue to call you Jon?’’

And just like that, the self possessed man was back, eyes hard. “Unless it’s in front of someone who does not know the truth, yes. There’s much you don’t know and too much I need to tell you. Your father lied to me my entire life, kept me from my mother and sister. On top of that he had the gall to name me after the man that helped organise my House’s downfall. Hearing that name makes me more angry than I can express.”

Robb shrunk a bit at that. His father was the most honourable man Robb knew. If he’d not admitted as much himself he’d have never believed any of this. He’d also grown up on the same stories as Jae, stories of how honourable Lord Jon Arryn is, how great a man Robert Baratheon is. He’d always thought of the men as family and had been proud to claim them as such. That changed when the king and his family came to Winterfell. Seeing what an embarrassment Baratheon is, seeing the rottenness of his heir… It had thrown a lot of Robb’s beliefs into question.

Just because all of this was easier to believe did not make it easier to accept. Robb nodded his head though, acquiescing to Jae’s wishes.

“This is not what I asked you here to speak of. Though I would like to tell you all of this as well, once you know the truth of things.”

“The truth of what things? I mean, I heard Aunt Lyanna and know who you truly are. What else could there be?” Robb questioned. His aunt seemed to believe her son would go for the throne as well, which was another thing he needed to think on. Though he could never imagine going against family.

Jaehaerys sighed, “The truth of our family. There’s another member of our pack, he’s been living in Greywater Watch with his mother our entire lives. He’d like to know you.” He took a sip of his ale as if steeling himself. “This isn’t something I take joy in telling you, but having been lied to my entire life I couldn’t do the same to you. I’ll have no part in it.”

Robb was growing impatient. This was obviously something that would affect him greatly and he was sick of the stalling he’d so recently cherished. “Just spit it out already!”

Jae obliged and Robb almost wished he’d begged him to keep stalling instead. “Our Uncle Brandon broke his betrothal to your mother. He married Lady Ashara Dayne and they had a son, our trueborn cousin, Alaric Stark, though his mother calls him Dayne.”

Robb choked on his response, and sat there gaping like the fish on his mother’s sigil for what felt like an eternity. 

“I...I’m not the heir to the North? That’s what you’re saying, father’s older brother has a trueborn son, making this Alaric the true heir.” The last was more statement than question. He ran his hand down his face. “Gods, even his name is more northern than mine!”

Jae flinched and something else dawned on Robb. “Does he look more Northern than me as well?!”

His brother nodded and softly told him, “He has the dark hair and grey eyes of the Starks. Though his hair is black, a shade darker than my own. Honestly, he looks like a much more handsome and taller version of your father.”

That hurt, Robb had always known how tenuous his position was. He looked too southron, he’d worshipped the New Gods as well as the Old when he was younger before he realised it did him no favours, but no one had forgotten. Mayhaps if that had been it he’d have been secure but his mother was constantly making things worse. If she had a part in this plot on Jon’s life…. Hell even if she hadn’t but her father did, it would bode poorly for Robb. If his cousin became common knowledge, the son of the beloved Wild Wolf, if he worshipped the Old Gods and followed the Old Ways, Robb was done for.

He wondered if that’s what he deserved. He wondered if, after seeing how such power had led his mother astray if he even wanted it. Learning the man he’d grown up emulating had stolen his nephew, and was going to be Hand to the man that had usurped him, learning his father had himself usurped his other nephew and hidden him away like a dirty secret, called Robb’s entire life and all of his beliefs into question.

“How could father usurp his brother’s son? How has this all been festering like a nasty wound beneath the surface of our family with none of us the wiser?” he asked despondently.

“In your father’s defence after the rebellion ended, Lady Ashara just wanted to raise her son in peace. She didn’t believe Baratheon would allow a half Dayne child to become Warden of the North, especially not over his best friend.” He took another sip of his ale before finishing his half arsed justification of Ned’s actions. “He did as she desired.”

Robb groaned, “It was not hers to give away! Besides, father should’ve told me!”

Jae snorted at that. “There’s a lot of things he should’ve done.” Then his face got more serious, his voice no longer mocking, “I understand, Robb. It’s part of why I could not keep this from you.”

Even though Robb wished this wasn’t true and part of him wished he was still ignorant of a few things he’d learned tonight, he smiled at his brother in acknowledgment. Then asked the most important question, “Does Alaric want it? Does he have proof of his legitimacy?”

He looked thoughtful at that, taking a moment to truly think on his answer, Robb appreciated it. “I’m honestly not certain. He says no now, but I think a large part of that is not wanting to hurt you or any of his other cousins. As for legitimacy, yes. There were witnesses, though most are no longer living. They married in a sept as well as a Godswood and have all the documents from the septon.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with this knowledge so decided to put it aside for now. He’d find no more answers tonight. He needed to think, he wanted to meet his cousin before deciding anything. He also wanted to wait until he wasn’t feeling quite so bitter and cheated.

“Now, onto you. Are you going for the Iron Throne? And with my father as Hand to Robert, where will that leave our family?”

The little dragon awoke at that and hopped down off Jaehaerys’ shoulder. The other four snapped their heads up and moved over as well, climbing up onto the table, all five squawking at their ‘father’.

Robb smiled, a true wide and happy thing and exclaimed, “Gods! They’re just like the hounds or the kitchen cats, begging for food!” He probably should’ve pissed his britches when all five turned to stare at him with looks of complete indignation on their faces. As they all looked like scaled, overgrown birds though he did not and instead laughed his fool head off. Rhaegon and the orange and red actually huffed smoke at him! They were such pitiful little clouds that it only served to make him laugh harder, Jon joined him laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

All the laughs died as the white opal one darted across the table, quicker than should've been possible and nipped Robb’s finger! The little shit broke the skin even. He looked up to see his brother laughing at him now and felt vindicated when the one like winter roses snapped at Jae’s fingers.

“Alright, alright I apologise you vain creatures, come on.” Then he picked up a plate of meat and tried to get them each to eat a strip. They weren't having it. They turned their noses up and screeched their displeasure. 

Robb didn’t understand, there’s no way the things didn’t eat meat. His brother’s eyes took on a far away look and when they returned to normal he oooh’d in recognition. He tossed the meat into the fire and the scaley beasts charged in after, eating the scorched meat with vigor.

“I needed that laugh,”Jae began as he sat back down. “Everything has been so difficult lately. I feel pulled in too many directions and no matter what I do I’m going to disappoint someone I love. Plus, I’m terrified. I was raised a bastard no matter my birth and that has left its scars.”

He didn’t need to say Robb’s mother had left most of those scars, it was understood. He did think Jaehaerys wasn’t giving himself enough credit as he’d noticed the changes already wrought in him since he’d returned. He told him as much.

His brother gave him a wide happy smile, thanking him and diving back into the meat of the issue. “This attack has put things in perspective for me. I must take the throne. So long as that drunken lout sits there with his golden wife most of my family will never be safe. He’s been sending men to murder my grandmother and her children since Daenerys was naught but a babe and Viserys a scared little boy. Can you imagine what he’d do if he learned of me, Rhaenys and my mother?”

It was a rhetorical question so Robb didn’t bother answering, just motioned for him to continue and nursed his drink.

“And make no mistake, no matter how hard we try eventually word of the events here tonight will get out. Whether through gossip or when my dragons are too large to hide. And before anyone suggests it, I will not abandon them or let any harm come to them.”

Robb felt a bit insulted at that, he hadn’t even considered such a thing.

Jae understood his thoughts because he clarified, “I didn’t think you would, but I’m certain Uncle Ned will give me an earful about it tomorrow.”

Robb grimaced, he couldn’t deny it. His father was overly fond of and loyal to his childhood friend. Much more so than sense would dictate, Robb had seen that during the first feast where the obese man got horribly drunk and shamed his wife in front of everyone present, including said wife. Robb also hadn’t been happy because their serving girls were not whores, and they had no ability to deny the king no matter their own wishes. He’d said something to his mother about it, but she’d waved it away, saying the king would never bother to bed someone unwilling, he had no need to. She’d in the next breath claimed the girls that did have relations with the king, and in front of the queen and the Lady Stark were no better than whores themselves and should seek employment in Wintertown’s whorehouse, not Winterfell itself. 

Robb had regretted bringing it to her attention immediately and interceded on their behalf with father who’d not allowed one to be let go. Robb was a bit ashamed that he’d likely not have even seen the issue if it hadn’t been for his little sister who’d seen all this, and complained to Robb in disgust.

He needed to stop thinking about other things and focus on the matter at hand, but it was hard to keep focused when he was so tired. Sleep would have to wait though, even after this he still needed to speak to Theon. He stayed up talking with Jae until the hour of the wolf. Learning about the rebellion, his maternal grandfather and foster grandfather’s plot, even his paternal grandfather had played a small role. He learned about Tywin Lannister and the six million dragons debt the crown had accumulated. How the smallfolk and loyalist lords were unfairly overtaxed. There was more but his brother didn’t want to stress Robb’s loyalty between himself and Robb’s father so had begged off. Robb appreciated it. The most interesting were the bits about the Soulmarks. From anyone else it would’ve sound delusional and self aggrandising but considering all that had happened recently Robb believed Jae when he told him the Gods themselves seemed to want this.

At the end of the night the two brothers hugged, then one dropped to a knee before the other and pledged his support and sword, “Whether as the Heir to Winterfell or just Robb Stark”.

And all around Winterfell the dragons sang and the wolves howled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it and enjoy the dragons. Next up is Domeric, he was supposed to be here but this is already almost 13,000 words and I wanted to get it up today and not have it even more over long. This will likely be a rare thing for them to be this long. I hope you guys don't mind. See you next Sunday. Lemme know any POVs you might be interested in. I've picked out the dragon names but am open to suggestions! You guys are the best and I enjoy your comments more than I can say. Thank you for all the support. It really drives me to keep going!


	11. 11. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is getting ready to leave Winterfell, plus some arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I’m so sorry this update took longer (and I didn’t even get to the Roose part I wanted, but I thought it better to post now and move him to next chapter). First my youngest kept breaking out in hives. Then my mom fell down the stairs, which was terrifying and she’s been needing more help. But here it is! Enjoy!

Domeric

It was the second time in twice as many days that Domeric was sitting in front of the small desk in his father’s guest quarters in Winterfell. And the look of almost happiness on his face was equally as concerning as the look of vindication he’d worn after Dom’s Marking. The range of expressions his father had shown the past few days made Domeric wonder if he’d been doing his leeching. On the one hand Domeric found the leeching disgusting and a reinforcement of their House’s harrowing reputation. On the other, If his father was the way he was with leeching, he worried what he’d be like without leeching. Probably more like Domeric’s bastard brother, only with more cunning, skill, and power. Which was a disturbing prospect. Just because there was no outward evidence of his father’s...depravity, didn’t mean he wasn’t sadistic. He wouldn’t be surprised if his father lived on schadenfreude as a vampire feeds on blood.

Three days past Domeric had come here directly after the new Jon Stark had left him after seeking him out in the chaos of his and Sansa’s Marking. Domeric had been relieved when the other man had shown up. He’d never felt more off balance than directly after the Gods had seen fit to place a blue-eyed, grey wolf on his left wrist and a flayed version of the Ryswell sigil on his right. He honestly wished he’d get to spend more time with him, aside from having his future taken from his own hands, they both had a love of the harp in common. It would’ve been nice to spend time with the only other Northern son he knew of who played. Apparently, Lord Stark had been even worse about it than Lord Bolton, all but ordering his bastard son not to play whereas Domeric’s father simply hadn’t encouraged it.

He’d been sceptical when he first met the former Bastard of Winterfell, after his experience with his own bastard brother he was much less trusting of those born on the wrong side of the sheets. He still wanted to know how Benjen Stark had known to warn him, considering how much he loved his bastard nephew, Domeric didn’t believe for a moment he’d have urged such caution without reason. He also knew it wasn’t due to rumours. His father ruled their lands with one ideal in mind, ‘a peaceful land, a quiet people.’ 

The smallfolk of their lands did not spread tales of their overlords outside of them.

Personally, Domeric thought that Crannog Lord the younger Lord Stark was so close with had something to do with it. The crannogmen were odd and closer to the Children of the Forest than most. He’d not told his father this of course. He’d not mentioned Benjen’s warning at all. He’d already disobeyed his father in seeking Ramsay Snow out, if he’d been hurt or died from it his father would think it deserved. He couldn’t know Domeric had been so naive as to plan to meet the man with no precautions.

But he’d found Jon to be a different sort than his own horrid half-brother. He was charming and smart. Not at all like the gloomy and taciturn boy he and his father had heard tell of. From what Domeric had ascertained he had done a complete turnabout in his personality after being Marked. Having been Marked himself Domeric could confidently say the process in itself had no such effect. He’d said as much to his father and he’d pointed out it may be due to his new legitimate status. Domeric hadn’t agreed with his assessment, ‘Jon Stark’ was too smart to think that truly changed much. No matter what was said, or the laws claimed, no one would ever forget he’d been born and raised a lord’s bastard.

Of course, now Domeric knew part of the reason for it. The man was not Jon Stark at all, but Jaehaerys Targaryen. From his abrupt change it was obvious he’d only recently learned this truth. Everyone knew Ned Stark never spoke of his bastard’s mother, not even to the boy himself.

Now the list of people who know the boy’s mother is Lyanna Stark (and who his true father is) had grown exponentially. They’d tried to stem the flow of that information. Their people wouldn’t talk, and both he and his father had made it clear to everyone else that they’d back Margaery Tyrell if they ever found out a soul told someone not present to witness it. Luckily it had mainly been Stark and Tyrell guards, and it appeared the only other lord and lady still present were Manderly and Mormont. And according to Wyman, they’d already pledged themselves to the She Wolf’s son. 

Domeric was going to King’s Landing with his soulmate, so they needed to keep this secret contained a while longer, at least until they were out of the lion’s den. Preferably until those dragons grew big enough to use in battle.

Of course Jaehaerys Targaeryen and his dragons were what they were meeting to discuss today.

“Tell me your first thoughts and what you think this means for us and the North,” his father’s soft voice demanded. Most people were disturbed by his soft, quiet way of speaking, but not Domeric. He was too used to it, he also understood why, even if he didn’t bother mimicking it. His father would not debase himself by raising his voice, other men would moderate their own in order to listen.

He pondered the question. It didn’t do to give off the cuff, half-arsed answers to Roose Bolton. It would only disappoint and offend him. One didn’t offend the Lord of the Dreadfort and come out of it unscathed. Not even his only son, though he did come out of it better than most. It was expected of a child to make mistakes after all, but Dom was a man grown now and avoided earning his father’s disappointment as best as he could. It paid to be cautious. Also, it would be beneath Domeric, he prided himself on his intelligence and cunning.

Jon Snow being Jaehaerys Targaryen was a boon for them. The man was Marked, the first in almost three centuries, the Gods themselves supported him against Robert Baratheon. And now Domeric was Marked as well and bound to the Warden of the North’s eldest daughter, all while visiting for the other Marked man’s wedding to his Tyrell bride. It was clear they’d been brought together for a reason and as Jaehaerys rose, so too would House Bolton.

He told his father as much and when his father nodded his head he continued on, “This also places Eddard Stark in a terrible position.”

Lord Bolton held up his pale hand then, fixing Domeric with his unnerving milkglass gaze. “How does it put Lord Stark in a poor position? Wouldn’t having his nephew, a man he raised as a son and his daughter both Marked bring him prestige? Even more so if that man becomes king? One could say he’s been blessed by the Gods.”

He was testing him, not disagreeing with him. No doubt his father had worked this all out on his own the moment he’d seen those dragons clinging to ‘Jon Stark’s’ body.

Domeric shook his head, laying out his reasoning. “No. Ned Stark has not been blessed. The Stark name, yes, the Targaryens, absolutely.” He reached forward to pour himself a glass of the hippocras his father favoured. At the subtle raising of the man’s right eyebrow however, he reached for the water instead.

“I think it’s more apt to say Ned Stark has been abandoned, even spurned by the Gods. He obviously supports Baratheon and even sent the boy to the Watch before he was Soulmarked and learned the truth. I doubt Ned Stark will fair so well with him as king as he has with Baratheon.” He took a sip of his water, waiting to see if his father would interrupt.

He didn’t so he continued on, “It’s almost as if the Gods themselves are working to undo Lord Stark’s plans. He wanted his nephew at the Wall so he couldn’t challenge Robert. The Gods Marked the Targaryen King and bound him to the second wealthiest kingdom, with a very large amount of men, and resources.”

His father nodded, barely perceptible and Domeric came to the most relevant issue for them, “He betrothed his eldest daughter to King Robert’s heir, trying to unite their families like they’d wanted to do since before the Rebellion. That would’ve neatly tied the Starks to the Baratheons.”

Domeric’s lips curved upward at the ends, “So, the Gods undid that and bound Sansa to me instead.”

“Yes,” his Lord Father agreed, “the Gods have spoken, louder than they have in living memory. So what will we do, Domeric?”

“We’ll support the Soulmarked Targaryen of course. The man has five dragons, the Tyrells, support of at least two Northern Lords, and the Gods. Dorne will likely stay out of it, the Riverlands will at least be divided. From what I’ve heard and seen of Lady Arryn during my time in the Vale the woman’s raving mad, Michel told me she’s only gotten worse since her husband’s untimely death. It’d be foolish not to support him. The Lannisters and Baratheons only have each other, and they’re fracturing at the seams”

His father hummed, “Yes. Though the dragons are so small we could perhaps take them out of the picture, but for now this is our course.” He pinned Domeric with his eyes, “Get close to the former Bastard of Winterfell. Looks like your harp playing will have benefits after all.”

Domeric stood to take his leave and the man known as the Leech Lord gave him one last command, “And get closer to your betrothed. Her obvious upset with being bound by the Gods to you is insulting. It needs to stop. I’m sure Bethany will be a great help with the girl. Hopefully in a year she won’t be quite so useless.”

Dom nodded and bowed, leaving his father. Inside he seethed and he resented that he felt so defensive of his mate. Hadn’t he thought such things himself just a few hours before? The talk of her in the North and around Winterfell was not flattering. No one in the North relished another Lady Catelyn in their midst.

………….

Shortly after his meeting he invited Sansa to the glass gardens. He awaited her on a bench by the winter roses, their sweet scent clinging to him, his polished wooden harp with a horse head carved at the top waiting next to him. From what he knew of her, and learned due to his servants’ reconnaissance, the girl was obsessed with songs and stories of knights and chivalry.

Domeric was a knight and he could be as gallant and chivalrous as any of his Southron counterparts. For all they disdained him for standing vigil before a tree and being anointed with weirwood sap, most of them didn’t even bother paying anything more than lip service to their knightly vows. He would woo her and Bethany would help him prepare her, help him take that rose colored film from off her eyes and the clouds out of her head. A vapid and weak Lady of the Dreadfort would not survive long.

It wasn’t long before he heard her bell-like voice ring throughout the garden, “Ser Domeric.” 

She greeted him with all courtesy though it was obvious she was disturbed for one reason or another. Even without it so plain on her pinched face, he could feel her unease and confusion through the bond. Once he’d figured out he could feel her, he’d worked on regulating his own side, not wanting her to feel him. He thought he succeeded most of the time, but the cord was slippery and hard to hold control over. He’d get there eventually.

Even her direwolf, Lady, the twin to the wolf on his wrist seemed agitated where she was normally as composed as any of the noble Southron maidens. He held out his hand to her and even though her owner showed hesitance, the wolf showed none. Coming over and licking his hand once before returning to her mistress’s side. He thought it a good sign. The Boltons remembered the tales of Stark wargs and skinchangers and he was certain that’s what was happening with their direwolves, whether they realised it or not.

“Lady Sansa,” he said with a bow before reaching for her hand. It sent waves of warmth over him whenever they touched, this time it was chased by her unease and concern. Hopefully, it wasn’t solely about the prince and how dismal she found being the future Lady of the Dreadfort in comparison to being Queen one day. “How do you fare, my lady?”

She took the seat on the bench he offered her, looking down to smooth her skirts. “I...I’m well, Ser and you?” 

Lady took up a seat by the winter roses, facing the bench and watching with intelligent amber eyes. She was still bristling and more fidgety but looked more relaxed. Once settled, both ladies looked back at him and Sansa finally saw the harp, her river blue eyes lighting up. She was truly beautiful and Domeric thought she looked less like her mother than his aunt claimed, she was far prettier for one.

“Oh, do you play Ser?” She asked excitedly.

He smiled warmly at her, “I do, my lady. I’d hoped to play for you if you’ve no exception?”

She nodded eagerly, “I would like nothing more, Ser Domeric.”

He sighed inwardly, he’d asked her multiple times to call him by his name but she hid behind her courtesies like an ironwood shield. “Then I shall play as often for you as you’d like, Lady Sansa. Though I must insist you call me Domeric, we are Soulmarked, if you cannot call me my name who can?”

Her eyes shuttered a bit at that, and she looked back down at her hands. He should’ve just left it. He’d known better than to bring it up. “Of course...Domeric. I’ll try my best to do so.”

“I’d like nothing more,” he echoed her words back to her and she blushed very prettily. “Maybe after I play we can discuss what has upset you so?”

She hummed noncommittally and he figured that was the best he’d get and began to stroke the chords with quick nimble fingers. Unfortunately, he wasn’t blessed with any great singing talent so had only the harps beautiful notes to woo her with. He’d heard she sang very sweetly, hopefully one day she would accompany him.

He played her a song of Florian and Jonquil that was well known. It was lovely and soaring, and though not overly complicated had many highs and lows. He wondered if Jaehaerys could teach him any new songs, if he was as talented as his father was rumoured to be he could learn much from him.

He watched her face as often as he could while he played. Most of it was by feel now, so he watched her more than the harp. She seemed completely entranced and he was very pleased. He even noticed a tear shining at the corner of her eye. He looked over at Lady and she had completely settled, laying down with her head rested on her paws. Her eyes were closed but Domeric knew she was just as alert as ever.

When he’d finished she’d clapped for him and thanked him profusely. Before surprising him with her honesty. “You play beautifully. You should speak to my ba- brother Jon. He’s the most talented harpist and singer I’ve ever heard.” She blushed, realising too late that he could take insult.

He patted her hand, reassuring her he wasn’t offended. “I have, my lady. I’m hoping to discuss music and to play together on our journey South. If you say he’s so skilled, I believe you and take no offence.”

She smiled and looked away, going tense once more.

"Sansa, may I call you Sansa?" He asked her lightly and she nodded her agreement. 

"Thank you. Sansa, would you tell me what's bothering you? You seem distressed." He left out that most of that he knew from the bond, she didn't want to speak of it yet, so they wouldn't. 

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it for a bit. Lady came and sat beside her, laying her head in Sansa’s lap. She started answering as soon as her fingers carded through her wolf’s fur, “I know, I know Jon was attacked. But no one will answer any of my questions. They won't speak of it at all except to say he's alright. That man hurt Arya too! And no one will tell her anything either. But I hear the servants whispering things that can't be true and they're all hiding something from me, I know it!" She cried, hands clenched in her skirts.

Well, he had asked hadn't he? This was a minefield. He needed to find out what all she knew while he decided what all to tell her, he hoped she didn’t know about her supposed brother. Considering she’d almost slipped and called him bastard, he doubted it. It could be the dragons, but no one would be so foolish as to discuss that where anyone could hear, would they?

He realised quickly that, yes, they would and he felt a rush of fear over this trip to King’s Landing. His mind scrambled to hold it back before it went rushing down the bond to her, it’d just needlessly scare her. Though by the way her eyes widened, she’d felt something. Lady bristled as well which was good confirmation for his theory.

“Why don’t you tell me what you heard, and if I can I’ll give you what information I may know.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand, surprising him so much he almost jumped. He immediately felt better, more at ease. She leaned towards him to speak urgently and he could smell strawberries on her hair.

“I heard the servants saying it was the Tullys that sent that man to kill Jon. They were saying my mother was part of it and I don’t know what to believe.” She clasped his hand tighter, “It couldn’t be true, could it?”

She was so earnest and good that it twisted something in his chest, he could feel her sorrow over her own suspicions and it twisted further.

He took a breath and asked her seriously, “What I know, is that a man your own father recognised as the Riverrun maester arrived the night of the fire. He claims your grandfather, Hoster Tully, ordered Jon to be killed.”

Tears filled her eyes, her voice cracking as she asked, “And my mother?”

“According to the man, he was unsure whether or not your mother was aware of the plot.” He stroked her fingers softly before gently questioning, “Sansa, you know your mother much better than I. Do you think this is something she would do? Is it within her to hurt Jon?”

Her tears fell in force then, before she threw her arms around his neck. He waved the Bolton guard ‘chaperoning’ them away, though Lady’s growl likely had more to do with it than Dom, and pulled out a handkerchief his cousin had sewn him. And that was all it took for the dam to break and all of her mother’s petty and cruel deeds rushed forth.

She told him of the letter Lady Stark had claimed Jon sent her, all but ordering her out of Winterfell. It was easier than he thought to hold his shocked laughter in. Aunt Barbrey and Cousin Bethany would have their work cut out, though it appeared she didn’t figure out the lie more out of denial than any lack of intelligence. She told him of the event that had sent Jon running to the Wall’s cold embrace just to get away from Catelyn Stark. How she’d erupted, yelling that he would not be in Winterfell to shame her before the king and queen and hurt her children’s prospects and standing. She’d confronted him in the crypts, saying he should be down there permanently, though since he’s not a Stark he never would be. She’d told Sansa this proudly, that she’d tried to kick him out of the crypts and went running to Ned Stark to complain about the disrespectful bastard when he pointed out she wasn’t a Stark by blood at all and should be the one to leave. Sansa had only learned that part from Arya. Her mother had made it sound like Jon had called her horrid names and threatened her.

She admitted she should’ve known better. That her mother and septa told her awful things about Jon but she never saw him do anything worse than brood or play harmless pranks with Robb. Ones he was usually dragged into but often took the full blame for. She mentioned how Jon was given less firewood, less food, and less clothing. How guilty she felt for not helping him mend his pants the one time he’d worked up the courage and asked her.

“I just wanted to be good. I wanted to be a great lady like my mother.” Then she whispered, “I never wanted her to look at me as she does Arya. I’m a horrible sister.” And then cried more into his shoulder.

He was a bit bewildered about what he should do, and horrified by her confessions. What in the hells had been happening in the very heart of the north? Had Winterfell fallen to an Andal invasion? He needed to speak to his father, he wasn’t sure what to do with this, but he thought they’d have better luck going to Robb Stark than Ned Stark. Robb may look like a Southron, but he was more northern than his Stark looking father. And that wasn’t saying much, no matter that Domeric liked the Stark heir, he had a lot to learn. Lord Stark had isolated and sheltered his children to the point of harm, that was a true threat to their standing. One his father was well aware of and wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of if he thought it best for his House and the North as a whole.

He rubbed his Marked’s back in soothing circles. Murmuring in her ear that it would be alright. Even though he knew it was a lie. Then he stood her up and took her to speak with Robb Stark. It was time to see what their future lord is made of.

Ned 

The crypts were a mess. The smell of smoke clung to everything, especially the inside of his nose. There was another, even more disturbing scent with it, the smell of burning flesh. Ned was horrified by how much it reminded him of roasted boar, luckily the smell of burnt hair was more prominent. He’d rather smell that awful, sharp and bitter scent than the not horrible other smell any day.

He wondered if this is what the Throne Room in the Red Keep had smelled like after Mad Aerys roasted his father while his older brother strangled himself to death. And now Rickard and Brandon had been trapped in another burning hell, unable to help another of their kin.

Their statues could only watch as their grandson and nephew was almost killed. While he burned another man alive. While he hatched dragons.

Ned knew logically that Jon wasn’t to blame, that he wasn’t mad. That man had gotten caught in his own trap. Could he have been saved to question? Mayhaps, though he wouldn’t shed a tear that the man hadn’t been.

He needed to stop blaming Jon. None of this was his fault, it was Ned’s. He knew it, he just didn’t understand how it had gotten this bad. His good-father had allegedly tried to murder a man he thought was Ned’s son. Which would’ve killed Margaery Tyrell as well. Ned couldn’t think of any way to save Hoster Tully if he’d ordered this. He was worried Jon truly would wipe the entire family off the map once his beasts were big enough. Would he burn Ned’s wife? The Targaryens had already taken his father, brother, and sister from him. Would this one take his wife as well?

It did no good to wonder right now. Right now he was assessing the damage to his family’s resting place and making a list of what needed to be done so he could make this as easy for Robb to handle as possible. Robb… He knew the truth now. Ned understood why his nephew had felt compelled to tell him but he couldn’t help but resent it.

He wasn’t truly surprised when Robb ambushed him there ten minutes later. His son’s shoulders were slouched, eyes red and bleary. His dark auburn hair dull in the torchlight. He looked worse than Ned had ever seen him. Considering all he’d learned last night it’d be odd if he didn’t.

“We need to talk,” his son said, voice as cold and biting as winter itself.

Ned sighed, “Yes. I suppose we do.”

“How could you keep this from me? How could you usurp your own nephew!”

“That’s not what this was. I did not usurp him, his mother denied his claim and I took my position as King Robert bid me,” he replied, voice tired.

“That reminds me, not only did you usurp Alaric but you also helped usurp Jae with Robert—“

Ned cut him off quickly, “That is not true! When I fought the war it was to get justice for my Lord Father and brother, to save my sister, and mine and Robert’s lives. I did not know about Jon until after Robert was on the throne and no one had any desire to go to war again, especially not to place an infant on the throne.”

His son scoffed, “Aye, maybe not then. But you’ve planned to do more. You tried to get him to join the Watch without knowing the truth or even that his mother and sister lived!” 

The disgust on Robb’s face was evident, his mouth twisted as he sunk the dagger deeper, “Not only that but you planned to marry Sansa to that horrid prince. You’d have placed your own grandchildren in your nephew’s rightful seat!”

Is that what he’d done? He hadn’t thought of it in such terms but he had desperately wanted Sansa to become a Baratheon. Even though he’d seen there was something wrong with the boy, even though Lyanna had all but begged him not to, for Sansa’s sake. And Ned had all but spat in her face and mocked her. 

What was he becoming? 

He tried to explain, “I never thought of it that way Robb. Let’s leave Jon out of it for a moment. We do need to discuss Alaric and what to do if Lyanna tries to usurp you with him.”

If he’d thought Robb looked disgusted before, it had nothing on how he looked now. “Are you serious? Alaric can’t usurp me, I’m the one usurping him! Winterfell is his if he wants it father. You and mother may have put power before family but I will not.”

Then his son said something that rattled him like nothing had up to this point, “When the white winds blow and the snow falls, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. You taught me that, and for all I’m learning you never understood it, I do. And I’ll be going to Moat Cailin with Jae’s party to meet the rest of my pack.”

Robb’s strong jaw was clenched shut, chin jutted forward, he’d never looked more a Stark. The irony that it was while he was all but giving up his Stark inheritance was not lost on Ned.

He quickly latched onto the first thing he could think of, Robb just needed time to think this through. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, son. Mayhaps once your brothers are back you can go meet...Alaric.”

Even saying his name was hard but he realised now, how wrong it had been to dismiss him in the same manner Cat did Jon, calling him ‘the boy’. Even in his own mind. He didn’t want Alaric to take Winterfell but maybe he’d been hasty in denying his existence entirely.

Robb shook his head, declaring mulishly, “Then you can stay an extra few days while I go meet my cousin. I’ll only need to stay a day, and with a small party we’ll be there and back quickly enough that even if the others leave on schedule you could still catch them up. So long as you rode with a smaller party as well.”

Ned sighed, “Fine, though you’ll take ten guards.”

“Fine.” He took a breath, steeling himself, “We also need to discuss mother.”

Ned shook his head, he didn’t want to think on Cat before he knew the truth. “We can speak of her once we’re all back in Winterfell, when we can learn the truth of things.”

Robb frowned, “That’s not what I meant, it’s just the latest piece in all of this. I just got finished speaking to Sansa. She came to me crying, telling me all the awful things mother has done. How she withheld necessities from Jae, how she lied about many things.”

And Robb went on to list all the things Cat had done that he’d tried to keep hidden. He knew she shouldn’t treat him that way but it wasn’t as if she hit him, Ned wouldn’t have stood for that. But Robb was right that it all indicated a pattern, an escalating one.

“What do you want me to do, son? She’s my wife, your mother.”

The look of disgust warred with sorrow on Robb’s face. “I do not want her back here. She’s shown time and time again she is not of the pack. She’s shown time and again her disdain for the North. Let her stay in her precious south with her precious Seven to keep her company, for I’ll not have her.”

Ned gaped at him. Robb wanted to banish his own mother? The Lady of Winterfell denied entry to the castle? “Robb. We cannot do that.”

Robb’s face turned red as his hair, “We can and we must. I’ll be acting lord while you’re in King’s Landing. If you want to bring her back with you I cannot stop you but I will not have her here. Open your eyes father, she tried or at least knew about the attack on my brother’s life.”

Ned flinched, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed that he still saw Jon as such. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t think of it, not yet. Cat could spend more time with her father or even come to King’s Landing with Ned. Bran and Rickon would just have to stay south a bit longer as well.

“I’ll think on it. Though you’ll need help, you’re too young and your mother has experience. And do not forget that she is your mother, Robb.”

“Would that I could,” he said in a voice laced with shame. He turned to walk away before pausing and glancing back. “You need to speak to Jae and you need to think father. Do not be on the wrong side of family here, do not be on the wrong side of the Gods. They have made their positions clear, they favour Jaehaerys and have taken down each of your brilliant plans brick by brick.” With that sardonic comment his son left the crypts and left Ned to his dead and his thoughts. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

He couldn’t dismiss his son’s words easily. What he’d said about the Gods had discomfited him more than he could express. He could side with a man he'd been best friends and brothers with since he was a child and in doing so he would lose his blood family and anger the Gods further. 

They seemed to be giving him a chance, a choice, but could Ned reach out and take it? And if he did, what would happen to Robert, what would happen to his wife?  
……

He set out to find his nephew after a few more minutes surveying the crypts. Unfortunately, he was intercepted by Wyman Manderly first. Would his days just continue to worsen as they went on? It seemed that way. Though it appeared the large lord wasn’t too pleased to be speaking to him either.

“Lord Stark,” he said, not even bothering to incline his head. The North didn’t follow all the fancy Southron rules, but the lords had always bowed their heads to his father…. at least, they had before his Southron ambitions.

Yet now three of his most important bannermen had already knelt for Jon, and he was half Targaryen. He had never thought the North would follow his nephew. He'd thought it safer that they never knew he was a living manifestation of what started the Rebellion. 

He'd thought they'd feel betrayed by Lyanna, instead they seemed to feel betrayed by him. The world had turned upside down. 

"Yes, Lord Manderly, what can I do for you?" He asked as kindly as he could. He couldn't alienate anyone any further than he already had. 

Wyman smiled, though it didn't meet his eyes. "I was hoping to discuss something with you. Robb is young yet and shouldn't he have a seasoned Northern Lord aiding him as he steps into his role as Acting Warden of the North?"

The actual Warden of the North paused, thinking. He shouldn't be surprised. Robb was alone here, no Catelyn to aid him. He should've thought of it sooner. He could've asked it of Howland. Perhaps Benjen…. No, Benjen would do nothing to aid him. He'd called him Eddard Baratheon. 

It had hurt all the more for the fact that it hit true. In the Vale Ned had wished he was Robert's brother for true. Neither he nor Robert fit with their true siblings. Benjen had been too young to really play with when he'd left Winterfell, though he'd grown into a sarcastic and happy lord, with a tempestuous temper. As if Brandon's wolf's blood rushed to Ben once Bran left this world. 

Brandon was wild, temperamental. He could be fighting a man one moment then laughing and turning that man into a close friend the next. He was charismatic and handsome and all the things Ned himself could never be. He drank and whored, honestly in many ways he and Robert were very similar. While Bran had always been closest to Lyanna, Robert chose Ned, even over his own blood brothers. How could Ned not do the same? They'd locked him out of the pack when he'd gone to the Vale. 

He focused again on the Merman Lord, gesturing for him to get to the point. He was too tired and still reeling from all that had happened in the past moons, from Jon Arryn’s death, to Robert’s visit, Jon’s Marking, Sansa's Marking, the attempt on his nephew's life and dragons, to bandy about with words.

“I was wondering if you’d like me to stay to help guide him. He’ll have no one else with the necessary experience to truly be of service. Maester Luwin seems a smart man, but he’s not Northern, and not enough regardless. And well, the less said about the Greyjoy boy the better. He’s had too much influence as it is.” 

Ned ignored the rebuke, trying to find a polite way to decline, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone sworn to Jon in his heir’s ear. If he couldn’t be on Robert’s side, he at least hoped to sit this out. It was all he could do for his old friend.

“Catelyn will be back soon, she’s always been a great help to me. I would’ve floundered without her in the beginning,” he informed him genuinely. It was true, this wife that should’ve been Brandon’s had been a great solace to him. He left out the fact that Robb would have nothing to do with her if she did return.

Wyman looked at him like Ned had just sprouted a second head and turned bright green, like Ned was a fool. It made him bristle, what right did he have to judge his Lord and Lady?

Lord Manderly pursed his lips and hardened his resolve. “Ned, we don’t know if Lady Stark was a part of her father’s plot.”

Gods how many people did Lyanna tell? It wouldn’t matter if Catelyn had been involved, the Northmen already disliked her and would latch on to any reason to see her fall further.

Wyman continued on, ignoring the ire on his Lord’s face, “She is also not Northern, Ned. She does not understand us and has never tried to. I thought you were aware but there’s long been discontent over how much influence she has here and how Southron Winterfell has become.”

Ned shook his head, he knew there were murmurings about Catelyn, but he’d not known it was as serious as all that. He was insulted, he was the blood of the First Men! A Stark of Winterfell, how could they believe he and his home were Southron? He said as much to Wyman.

The fat man sighed, his chins shaking and said in a voice with a core of iron, “Ned, there was already worry about you being raised in the south. Then you built a sept in Winterfell. Now, I follow the Seven myself but you have to realise how upsetting and worrisome it is to see such for the other lords.”

He paused as if debating saying more before barreling onward, “You let your heir and the rest of your children be raised with the Faith as equal to the Old Gods. That did Robb no favours considering his looks. Then you let a septa raise the girls. It’s obvious you’d long decided on a southron match for Sansa, which insulted many of us with sons. And we all know if Catelyn had her way the next Stark Lord after Robb would be more Andal than First Men.”

Ned grimaced, he'd never thought of it that way before. Whose business was it how he raised his children outside himself and Cat? He heard a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like father, ‘Did Jon Arryn truly turn you into such a naive fool in the Eyrie?’.

He brushed such thoughts off, this was ridiculous. “Wyman, that’s not fair. My children cannot help how they look, they are Starks regardless. And should I have denied my wife her faith in a new land?”

Wyman shook his head, as if disappointed. "No, of course not. But you should've not let her put it on Stark children. There's more, Ned. We all thought you knew our concerns but it appears you didn't. Mayhaps we can go sit and I can inform you?"

The man was sweating, just from standing here. Gods, is this what Robert will look like in a few years? Ned dismissed the thought, it wasn't worthy to think such. He debated whether he wanted to hear any more of this but in the end sense won out over pride and he led Wyman to his solar. He'd not noticed what an audience they had until they turned to walk into the keep. Tongues would be wagging again, he hoped they’d fall of from the effort.

They entered his solar, Wyman breathing heavily, with his face redder than a tomato. Ned gestured for him to sit and quickly ordered some water and ale to be brought before going over and sitting behind his desk. 

"You said there's more, my lord? More things the Northern Lords have complained to each other about behind my back rather than telling me to my face?!" He thundered. 

Wyman barely reacted to his anger, just a bit of widening around his light blue eyes. He placed his hands over his high belly, his sausage like fingers intertwined. He waited a moment before responding.

After thinking so long that Ned almost screamed at him to just spit it out! He finally reacted to Ned's accusation. 

"Is that what you think, my lord? No, we've tried. We just weren't as blunt as was needed, I see that now. Do you really not recall other lords mentioning their concerns about the influence of the Seven here? I know Maege has sent multiple ravens asking to foster young Arya. I sent a few myself about Lady Sansa and Lord Bran."

Now Ned was confused. What did that have to do with anything? And Ned didn't recall seeing any such ravens. Bear Island would be a perfect fit for Arya. Catelyn would hate it but…. And Wyman was right to ask for Sansa and Bran. They had more knights in White Harbour than the rest of the North combined.

Though, even if he'd seen more of these ravens, would Ned have allowed his children to be taken from him? No. The only raven he'd received about fostering was from the Umbers and of course from Howland. And he'd have never let Jon go to either. 

Wyman could see the confusion on his face. "Did you not know, my lord?"

Ned admitted he'd only ever seen any requests about fostering Jon out. 

Wyman hummed. "Well. I know for Brandon I sent the request with a raven to Lady Stark, where I asked for the honour of fostering Sansa. She denied my request for Sansa and I never heard anything about Bran. Maege sent the ones for Arya straight to Catelyn as well." He looked pointedly at Ned.

Did Catelyn… Had she gone through his letters? Hidden things from him? No, no, it couldn't be true. He needed to get to Riverrun right away. He needed to speak to his wife and get all of these doubts out of his head. 

"What else would you like to tell me Wyman?"

"My last is advice for Lord Robb. While you're away I believe he should send for other Northern sons and heirs to come to Winterfell. It's past time he got to know his future bannermen, and that they got to know him." 

The look Wyman gave him told him this was another of Ned and Catelyn's many failings in the eyes of his lords. Ned knew he was right. Even Catelyn had brought it up a time or two, though she'd hoped to have some Southron sons as well.

Ned sighed deeply, "Aye, you can stay on and help Robb, Wyman. Thank you for...informing me of all of this."

Lord Manderly stood and bowed his head, he looked like there was more but Ned hardened his face and the man finally saw the anger there and clamped his mouth shut. 

He just hoped he was making the right decision. 

Now he just needed to rearrange things so his heir could go and meet Brandon's heir. The thought made his heart fill with ice. 

……..

It turned out no plans would need to change, for the next day two surprise visitors arrived in Winterfell, his old friend, Howland Reed and his nephew, Alaric Dayne. While Ned was happy to see Howland -he’d not seen his odd friend since the Rebellion- he was not at all happy to see Alaric.

His first thought on seeing him was one of shock, followed quickly by dread. The young man looked almost exactly like his older brother. He was truly Brandon reborn, though mayhaps a bit more handsome. He was a little over six feet tall, strong with black hair and storm grey eyes. Anyone who’d known the Wild Wolf would take one look at Alaric and know he was his son. 

This was a disaster. He could see the accusing looks on the faces of his remaining bannermen. 

Maege would leave when they left, all her daughters but Jory already headed home. She looked about ready to put her mace in Ned's skull. 

Wyman was staying to help Robb, which made Ned nervous of his motives. The way his eyes lit up seeing Brandon's son only worsened his anxiety. 

Roose would remain till his heir departed for King’s Landing, and his presence always discomfited Ned. For all that he’d seen no evidence of the man being anything but loyal and dutiful, he still gave the Lord of Winterfell a bad feeling. He especially didn't like the calculating way he was looking between Robb and Alaric. This was almost as bad as those damn dragons. 

Every one of them, even Jory Cassel and Vayon Poole as well as some of the remaining servants from Ned’s childhood looked on him with anger and disdain. And they didn’t even know if the boy was nothing more than a bastard at that point! 

Had he been wrong to take Ashara up on her denial of Alaric’s claim? He could think of no different course, Robert would have never accepted a Dayne as Warden of the North, especially not when he could have Ned. He could think of nothing else he could've done. Aside from raising Alaric in Winterfell like he did Jon, and he couldn't even imagine how Catelyn would've reacted to two bastards. 

After the greetings were dispensed with he made his way to his nephew but was cut off by Howland. He grabbed his shoulder and steered Ned in the other direction. His last sight was of Robb awkwardly speaking with his newfound cousin and Jon acting as a buffer.

He huffed and let himself be led away by Howland. They quickly settled in Ned’s solar. He didn’t even bother with refreshments before starting in on his friend, “How could you bring him here, Howland?”

Howland offered one of his inscrutable smiles, “I knew I was needed, the boy just wanted to see it once and meet his cousins, as is his right, my lord.”

Ned ran his hands down his face. “This could cause more problems than you can understand, old friend.”

Howland’s lips thinned, his voice firm though not unkind as he disagreed, “I understand more than you know. I also knew you and Jaehaerys need my help.”

“What are you talking about?” Ned asked with growing trepidation. He knew Howland had dreams and had learned in Dorne to trust them. Who knows how things would’ve gone if he’d listened to Howland when he’d tried to tell him of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Who knew what differences listening to Benjen from the start could’ve made?

“I had many dreams, Ned. I dreamed of two fish of blue and red, trying to fell a dragon. I dreamed of dragons being woken from stone in the resting place of the Kings of Winter.” 

Ned felt his breathing grow shallow and fast, two fish, he said two fish tried to kill a dragon. Oh Catelyn, what have you done? Please be Edmure, please be Edmure.

Howland looked at him with sad eyes and shook his head, as if denying Ned’s very thoughts and finished his tale, “I dreamt of what would happen to you and yours unless you stop fighting against the Gods. It is not pretty Ned and will lead to the deaths of more Starks than just yourself. For the sake of your children, you must not continue to support Robert,”

It was his turn to shake his head now. “How can I betray him, Howland?”

“How can you betray your family is the better question, Ned. You failed your siblings almost twenty years ago, do not do so again. You’ll be failing far more than them. You’d be failing Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.” Howland took a deep breath, “Are Robert and Catelyn truly worth the end of Starks?”

Ned reeled back, mouth gaping. “They’re. ..That's my king, my best friend, and my wife, the mother of my children you're talking about Howland!”

Howland just stared at him, disappointment etching lines in his face.

Ned bellowed in frustration. “Of course they’re not Howland, but that is no simple choice to make! What is it you expect me to do?”

“For now? Figure a way out of being Hand. I’ll help you come up with something, Sansa’s Mark will help in that, as could Alaric’s existence. I’d not take the boy to King’s Landing though, it would be a dangerous place for him. Robert will not take his existence kindly, even if he claims to be a bastard.”

Ned nodded woodenly, then he and Howland spoke and over the next few hours a plan formed for Ned to lie to and strand his best friend, his brother, his king. He’d not speak on his wife yet, he needed to see her first. He needed the truth from her mouth, until then he couldn’t think about losing her.

As for Hoster, he hoped Howland had a plan for that too. He was hesitant to use the Queen of Thorn’s plan, and he knew she had another she’d not told him. Whatever her and Lyanna had planned for his good father and wife, Ned would do all he could to see it fail.

Loras

The clearing a short ride from Winterfell was beautiful, the grass green and the trees surrounding it closing them in against the wind. It almost felt like summer, though the air was crisp and still too cold for his liking. The weather up here was changeable, with summer snows then days of sunshine. 

Today was truly a fine day in the North, the sun was shining brightly and with the exertion from jousting he almost felt warm. He couldn't say he'd be sad to leave, he could say he'd enjoyed it more than expected. 

These jousts with Arthur and Jaehaerys were his favourite part, followed by their sword training. He couldn't believe he was being trained by the Sword of the Morning. He and Garlan both had come down with a bad case of hero worship. He could've done without the esteemed knight mocking his flower cape however. There was nothing wrong with beauty, or making a name for oneself. 

Today was more intense. It was two days after the attack and everyone was still on edge. His good brother especially. He had never seen a man burn with such intense and simmering rage and when he'd sparred with Arthur the next day he'd come closer than Loras had ever seen anyone come to defeating the man. Considering Garlan hadn't even come that close and he beat Jaehaerys more times than not, it had been quite the feat. He'd fought like a man possessed, ferocious and strong, and utterly brutal. 

Loras decided he'd never want to be on his bad side and that was ignoring the five winged creatures that would grow as large as buildings and could incinerate entire armies one day. 

He and his entire family, grandmother more than anyone else had been pleased that the source of the rage wasn't mainly due to the attempt on his life. It was the attempt on Margaery's. Grandmother had been most pleased that it hadn't blinded him into foolish or rash actions. No, it had instead inspired him to be cunning and ruthless. He'd gone so far as to put forth the idea of assassinating those involved.

Loras didn't really see why they shouldn't just do that, or bring the Tully's up on charges. Even if they couldn't bring that maester in person, they could get a signed statement. From all he'd heard Renly complain of how much Robert loved Lord Stark, he'd likely take Tully's head and damn the consequences. 

Though, they still couldn't trust Lord Stark not to aid his good father, and if his wife had been in on it? No, Jaehaerys was convinced he'd guard her. 

Grandmother had asked his leave to work with Princess Lyanna and bring a plan to him for approval. Though knowing grandmother, she'd likely do what she pleased with or without her new grandson's permission. 

Arthur walked up, handing him a tourney lance, before doing the same for their king. Loras was still a bit in awe of riding against a Targaryen King, let alone being family of one. But he didn't let that affect his performance. He assumed his good brother intended to ride in the Hand's Tournament and Loras would not make it easy for him. 

He didn't need to, though it chafed to admit it. He was a talented knight, and his good brother had grown up a northern bastard. He shouldn't be as good as he was. Though most northern bastards weren't trained by knights like Ser Arthur Dayne since they could walk either. 

At Arthur's signal he took off, his golden mare, Cider steady and quick beneath him. She was one of Willas' best horses and a gift for Loras' last name day. He hoped to use her in the tourney as well. 

Jaehaerys rode full tilt at him, his blood bay, a courser he called Vhagar, was touted as the best of the Ryswell stables. Loras preferred the horses bred in the South but couldn't deny the beauty and power of the animals. The man rode like the wind, he'd not have been surprised to learn he had been born in the saddle. If he had more skill placing a lance he'd likely best most knights with ease. At the rate he was improving however, Loras wouldn't keep his edge forever. 

He'd wondered why he didn't have more skill, but apparently the Lady Stark had thrown a fit when Jae had knocked Robb from the saddle the first time. Arthur still tried to train him when he could but didn't want to push his luck. They'd been making up for that ever since they'd met a day's ride from Castle Black. 

His distraction cost him. Loras kept his seat but Jae scored a solid hit on his shield while Loras' lance glanced off Jae's.

They were about to line up once more when they saw two people entering the clearing. A man and what appeared to be a boy around Sansa's age. When they got closer he was surprised to see the 'boy' was actually an adult man. The other traveler looked like a much more handsome Lord Stark, taller too. Loras couldn’t believe it took him so long to recognise them, but he’d only spent a few days in their company.

His good-brother jumped off his horse and ran over, hugging both men. Arthur followed quickly behind his king. Shaking the small man's hand and tightly embracing the young one, saying, "Nephew!"

Loras dismounted and came closer as well, nodding at Howland Reed and the man that should be the true Lord of Winterfell. 

He wasn't great at political machinations, that was true but he knew enough to pay close attention so he could report every word to his grandmother. He knew she'd wanted to make Ashara Dayne's son take his rightful place. It seemed she'd have more room to put those plans into effect.

Loras liked Robb Stark, he truly did and he knew Jaehaerys loved him like a brother, but Loras and the rest of his family would not be satisfied with anyone with Tully blood ruling more than a cold cell, let alone the entire North.

…….

Alaric's arrival had caused a massive stir. Neither Sansa or Arya were even talking to their father. And they didn't even know all of the man's lies and truths still hidden from them. 

Loras wasn't sure how they managed it and even less sure how they were going to continue hiding the dragons while on the road. He knew Jae planned to tell Arya before reaching Moat Cailin but it seemed he was scared to. 

Loras was scared too. Scared of how a girl with only one and ten name days was going to keep these secrets. Though he did believe she'd be more capable of it than her older sister. They'd all agreed to not tell Sansa, which for some reason had set the king to holding his stomach and laughing. 

As for Alaric the only Starks seeming pleased by his presence were Lyanna and oddly enough Robb Stark. Loras didn't know if he'd be happy to meet the man that actually had all right to everything he'd thought was his, but Robb seemed to be. They still looked a bit awkward but were pushing through it. He could see he wasn't the only one watching in interest, his grandmother was staring at them with an inscrutable look on her face, the gold roses on her wimple catching the light. The hall was subdued tonight, the last feast before they all scattered to the winds.

Jaehaerys seemed certain that Arya Stark would come around quickly. Swore to Alaric that she was angry at her father, not him. By the time Loras had turned back to the handsome Stark heirs his good-brother was proven right, the wild little girl had pulled a chair up, crowding her cousin, her face animated as she looked to ask him a million rapid fire questions.

"Loras, are you alright brother?" Margaery's lilting voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

Loras quickly tore his eyes away from the wolves and looked over to his queenly sister. "Yes, I'm fine. Just ready to get on the road. I'll be happy to return to King's Landing," To Renly. Loras doesn’t say it but he could tell she heard it anyway.

She gave him a small smile. “Are you certain you can do this? Do you believe he’ll come to our side when the time's right?”

He heard the doubt in her voice but she’d always doubted Renly. He knew why, she thinks he took advantage, that Loras was too young. That she wonders how many squires he’d done the same with before. But Loras knows Renly better than she ever will, knows that he could be great; better than his brothers at the least.

The only doubts Loras has had were due to the soulmarking of Margaery and Jae, and then Domeric Bolton and Sansa Stark. It’d made him question if the Gods were against them, if what he and Loras had was wrong as the Seven claimed. He’d mentioned it to Margaery and she had spoken to Jaehaerys of it, something he’d been unhappy and mortified by. In the end he’d been relieved, even though he'd not be telling her things he didn’t want his future king to know from then on.

Jae had found in his books information that set Loras’ heart at ease. Apparently there were cases of couples like he and Renly being Marked, even cases of pairs of women. Jae said they were often hidden but that many had gone on to be Lord Commander’s of the Watch and Kingsguard or high up Septa’s and Silent Sisters. According to one of the books given to Jae by Maester Aemon, Rhaena Targaryen and Elissa Farman were Soulmarked, though later in life. A closely guarded secret of the Targaryens. Loras supposed such a thing would undermine the Seven and make people question their other teachings. The Old Gods didn’t care one way or another, though it was frowned upon in the North. Jae said there were rumours about a man called ‘Whoresbane’, and that he was a well respected fighter, an Umber.

He put his hand on his sister’s shoulder and tried to reassure her and himself, “I can do this. I admit, lying will be difficult but it’s necessary for the time being. I’ll comfort myself that it won’t be long before I can tell him. As for that, I have to have faith in him and his regard for me.”

Margaery nodded. “Alright brother, I’ll trust you in this.” She sighed, the worry returning to her face. “I’m scared we’ll be found out. I’m scared the trouts will try again, but succeed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Or worse, the Lions. And we all know the rumours about Cersei and Joffrey, Tywin’s cruelty is legend.”

He opened his mouth to reassure her but she cut him off, “Go, finish packing, we leave at first light. I’m just worrying too much, we’ll get through this, we have our wits and the gods on our side.”

She hurried out of the hall. Loras waited a moment before standing from the table, following after to take her advice. They’d get through this and no one would hurt his sister or his good brother, he’d make sure of that for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! And again, I’m sorry for the wait. I’ll not give an estimate since I suck at them but anywhere from 1-2 weeks.
> 
> Next up Rhaenys, Roose, Olenna or Lyanna and some fishies.


	12. Truths and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jae thinks and opens up to a loved one. A Blackfish comes home. Two Wolves confront Trouts and more

**Jaehaerys**

He woke right at dawn with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth in his and Margaery’s tent, when moments before he could swear to all the Gods he was on all fours ripping out the throat of a stag with his razor sharp teeth. It was disconcerting and mildly frightening. Howland and Jojen had called it warging and bid him practice. Practice he had, he could now enter Ghost at will and had started forging a link with a falcon, which he found ironic. He’d definitely not being trying a trout next. Though he’d be lying if he said he’d not dreamed of warging and stag and goring Robert Baratheon to death with his own sigil.

He’d been having other odd dreams as well, ever since he received his eggs he’d dreamed of him and Rhaenys flying together. Usually just the two of them but he’d had dreams of three others with silver hair on other dragons. He assumed they were the remaining members of his father’s family and it gave him hope he’d bring them home one day.

Ever since the dragons had hatched he’d been having dreams of other things, dreams that were more and more confusing. Dreams of a red snake attacking a large rock, the rock starting to crush the snake before a dragon burns it to ash. A black dragon being painted red armoured in gold before chasing three red dragons across a desert. A chained lion with a scorpion tail, chained and gag in what he thought was a hold on a ship. 

He struggled to make heads or tails of them. Some were easier to piece together than others. Though he felt silly taking any stock in them at all. More likely than not they were just dreams.

He set aside all thoughts of dreams to appreciate the moment he was living in this plush tent with his gorgeous and witty wife. It was more comfortable than any tent he’d ever used before. Actually it was much more comfortable than his old room in Winterfell. Something he didn’t want to think too hard on. The Tyrells certainly knew about life’s luxuries, much more compared to the Starks. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed them himself. He’d never expected to have such nice things, to live in such comfort; he’d never thought nor sought to have a wife either, let alone one as wonderful as Margaery. 

No, the best he'd dared hope for in life was to become First Ranger of the Night’s Watch. To live in freezing conditions, for his home to be a cold and dank cell on the Wall. To traverse the Land Beyond the Wall in a tent a fraction the size of this one, on an uncomfortable bedroll on the cold, hard ground. The only action his member could have expected in that life was frostbite. 

Now here he was, in an actual bed complete with goose down pillows, staring at his gorgeous Marked wife. He moved to get up as gently as he could. Careful not to wake her, letting her enjoy the extra hour before they readied to move out. He had something to do this morning and he’d need to do it alone. And after he’d be on his way to his big sister, he couldn’t wait to show her the dragons.

Just when he’d put his feet on the ground he felt her small warm hand move and encase his. It sent the same tingle, the feeling of warmth and safety through him as it always did. He wondered if things would always feel this magical between them or if one day it would become so commonplace as to be unremarkable. He hoped it never did. He was quickly falling in love with this golden-eyed woman and her impish smile. Maybe it was wishful thinking because he couldn't understand why she would, but he would swear he could feel her falling for him through the bond as well. 

“Going somewhere, husband?” 

He doubted he’d ever tire of hearing those words from her bow-shaped lips. He couldn’t decide which he liked more, her calling him husband or her calling his name. He hadn’t realised how true his words about that had been until their wedding night, when she'd moaned ‘Jaehaerys’ against his neck. It had almost made him come undone, he hadn't lasted much longer in any case. 

It was odd how quickly he’d become used to his true name, how quickly hearing ‘Jon’ felt like a curse. He knew it’d only grate worse with time, especially hearing it from Robert Baratheon’s mouth. Though part of him wished it was an issue that could plague him longer. With the dragons now, he’d not have much time before he’d have to come out of the shadows. He just hoped he was able to do it on his own terms.

He bent over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, before standing to change out of his sleep clothes. “I’m going to get Arya, it’s time I tell and show her. She needs to know, deserves to.”

Margaery hummed in agreement before warning him once again, “I understand but I hope she can keep this secret in King’s Landing.”

“After we split at Moat Cailin there’s no way we can keep it from her. Not unless we send her with my Uncle.” He pointed out again. He was honestly looking forward to that split, though he’d be sad to see Domeric and Sansa go, it’d also be nice to not have to hide and he could do with a break from his uncle’s looks.

Things had gotten better with Sansa since the issue with the supposed letter he’d sent had been cleared up, amongst other lies Lady Catelyn had told her daughter. He knew he had the Bolton heir to thank for much of his sister’s change in attitude and he was truly grateful. He was also pleased to see them getting on well, pleased both seemed happier with the match every day.

“You’re right.” Margaery grinned, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Never,” he said fiercely. “I know how lucky I am to have a brilliant wife. You’ll find no complaints from me on that.”

She smiled brightly before turning pensive, “Sansa cannot know. Not yet at least. I’m not sure how long we can keep this secret but at least until we’re out of the capital.”

It was his turn to nod. He had no desire to tell Sansa. Things were better between them, but it was still new and he was waiting for her to decide he was just her half brother after all. He didn’t know which would be worse, if her finding out the truth made her dislike him once again, or if his royal status made her fawn over him. He was leaning towards the latter.

“I won’t. The dragons will remain in their bird cages, despite how much they hate it. It’s hard to sleep feeling their displeasure all night.”

“Well, at least they’ve kept quiet. Their cries do not sound like any bird I’ve ever heard.”

He fastened the clasp on his cloak, a surprising gift from Sansa with embroidered replicas of Ghost and walked back to the bed, kissing Margaery once more. She surprised him by pulling him down to the bed and kissing the nasty cut he’d gotten over his eye in the attack, it was healing well but Luwin believed it would leave a scar. He was pleased his lady wife seemed to find it attractive. He gave her hand a squeeze, holding it until the last possible moment before heading off to tell Arya. If he didn’t do it now, he feared he never would. 

……

He had gone and woken Arya. She’d been none too pleased until he’d told her he wanted to ride out alone a bit, just him and her. Well, he, Arya, and Arthur twenty paces behind and under strict orders to give them privacy. At first he’d wanted to force his uncle to back off, he didn’t need protecting, he was a man grown. It had taken his mother pointing out that it wasn’t only his life at risk but Margaery’s and in a less immediate way his Targaryen family’s wellbeing he risked with his recklessness. He’d been shamed and she spoke true, so he consented to his shadow. 

He’d surprisingly been offered Stark guards as well and had accepted Harwin and a man named Alain that had always been fair to him. Plus, they had ten guards from Highgarden as well. He felt badly that he only knew two of their names but they were the two that spent the most time directly guarding them and Morsan and Vallan were kind and great for a spar.

After she knew it was to be just them she’d been delighted. He could tell she’d been jealous of the time he spent with Margaery. Of late he’d found where before he had way too much time on his hands, and not many people who wished to spend it with him, he now had too little time and many that wished to share it; Margaery and her brothers, his mother and Ser Arthur, Arya, Sansa and Domeric, and the dragons most of all…

It’d be easier for the few days in Greywater Watch, though he’d have to inform Arya he’d likely spend every free moment with his sister. She wasn’t coming to King’s Landing with him and it saddened him more than he’d thought possible. She was his sister but he’d not known her long, yet still he didn’t feel right without her near. He wondered if he’d feel the same about his Grandmother, Aunt, and Uncle. He hoped he would. As Rhaenys had told him, like calls to like, magic knows magic. The dragons, his dreams at night, they all made him believe what his mother had told him, Jae himself had much potential for magic. Which was as scary a prospect as it was exciting.

They rode a ways from camp, about a ten minute ride. They couldn’t be gone too long but he needed space for this. He couldn’t imagine her reaction being quiet.

“So brother, what are we doing out here?” She asked him curiously before her eyes lit up. “Are you finally going to start teaching me to use Needle?!”

He smiled ruefully and told her the disappointing truth that no, he wouldn’t be. But he promised to work with her a bit when they stopped for lunch. It was funny to him that the last time he left Winterfell he’d gifted her a skinny sword, this time Uncle Arthur had gifted him a skinny sword of his own. Jae was touched by the gift, and grateful for it as well. Hopefully it would make the transition to Dark Sister easier. Once Arya saw it she was going to be insanely jealous, maybe Visenya’s sword alone would be enough to keep her near him.

He hoped she would still want to spar with him. And not just because of a Valyrian Steel sword and the dragons. He hoped Arya would still see  _ him.  _ Not his name, but he himself as she always had before. He was terrified she may decide she wanted nothing more to do with him, she may beg Uncle Ned to cancel their fostering agreement. He hoped that wasn’t the last time he ever heard her call him brother.

“Arya, I have something I need to tell you. There are people you’ll be meeting soon and you need to know the truth about who I am before then. I also hate keeping secrets from you, little sister.” He couldn’t resist calling her that one more time.

She looked at him quizzically but gestured for him to continue. He took a deep breath and barreled ahead. “My mother has been living in Greywater Watch since I was babe. We’ll be visiting there after stopping at Moat Cailin.” He left out the fact that his mother was in truth taking this journey with them. She’d want to race off and meet her and he’d not be able to hold her back.

Arya gasped before smiling broadly. She jumped forward and hugged him tightly. “Jon! That's wonderful! Why didn’t you tell me and when did father tell you?”

He hesitated a moment then finally just came out with it, "Arya, before I tell you this, I just want you to know that you will always be my sister… no matter who my mother is, or who my father is."

Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion, "What do you mean no matter who your father is? Just tell me Jon!"

Jae sighed and answered as bluntly as possible, "My mother is Lyanna Stark, and my father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

Her mouth fell open, honestly in any other situation he would've been proud of leaving her speechless. She shook her head and grabbed his hands. "Jon it doesn't matter, you are my brother always. I'm so sorry about your mother and what your father did to her. Wait, didn’t you just say your mother is alive? I thought the Dragon Prince killed her."

Was this how it was going to go with everyone he told? All because of greedy men's stupid lies? He'd lost most of his family to those lies, whether to death or exile or separation. His father's memory was tarnished by the lies told about him by Robert Baratheon and Arya's own father and it made him feel ill. He didn’t know how Rhaenys had withstood it for so long.

"No," his voice came out colder than he'd meant it to but it couldn't be helped. He softened his tone, "Arya, my mother  _ is _ alive. She's hiding amongst the servants now and she  _ loved _ my father, as he loved her."

Her mouth dropped open in shock, the look made him crack a small smile. She quickly closed her mouth, pursing her lips in thought. “Is this why that man tried to kill you?”

Jae was touched that that’s where her sharp mind took her first and what she saw as most important. He also wasn’t sure how to respond, how do you tell an eleven year old that their grandfather, and likely their mother tried to have their beloved brother murdered? 

Lord Stark was going to be furious but Arya needed to know it all and he truly believed she could be trusted with the information. They had decided to wait to tell Sansa all of it, though Domeric had told him about the gossip she’d overheard. He’d not told her everything but Sansa did know her Tully family was behind the attack. Jaehaerys was not much surprised she’d not told Arya. Maybe Lord Stark had asked her not to. But Lord Stark no longer commanded Jae, he never would again.

“No, Arya. At least I don’t believe that had anything to do with it or we’d have had Baratheon calling for all of our heads by now.” He gently took her by the hand and walked her over to a spot beneath a sprawling oak to sit. “I...I’m not sure how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Arya, your grandfather, Hoster Tully was behind the attack.”

She looked at him, her brows scrunched in confusion but not disbelief. Jae let out a small huff of air, he was relieved she hadn’t named him a liar. “My grandfather tried to kill you?! But why?”

So he told her about Maester Vyman, how he’d sent a pathetic ‘warning’ and come all the way to Winterfell to try to stop the attempt. It was pure bad luck that he’d just started speaking with Ned and Robb when the man attacked. Though if he had been sooner would Jae have hatched the dragons? He’d love to see Hoster Tully’s and Lady Stark’s faces if they learned that  _ they _ were the ones that gave him dragons, that gave him all he and his family needed to wipe Riverrun off the map. 

He grinned ruefully which was noticed by Arya and quickly schooled his face. Her own just kept getting redder. If he knew his sister at all, he knew she was thinking about jumping into the saddle and riding for Riverrun to give her grandfather all seven hells. He was just relieved her anger at Hoster had blinded her to figuring out her mother was likely involved as well.

As much as Jaehaerys detested Catelyn, he still didn’t wish for Arya and his other siblings to lose their mother. He knew what growing up motherless was like and couldn’t take joy in bringing the same fate down on those he loved. If Catelyn had done anything else, anything but try to have him murdered, and Margaery dead in the process he’d have never made a move against her. In fact, his whole life he’d tried to mitigate the damage her actions would bear on her relationships with Robb and Arya. That she didn’t realise that was just another example of her selective blindness, of her delusions.

He’d tell Arya eventually, but now was not the time, her world had already been rocked enough, the next faultline could hold a few sennights more.

* * *

**Rhaenys**

Rhaenys had been waiting for her brother's return for what felt an age. It was even harder being apart now that she’d gotten to know him, especially since Lyanna got to go with him. Now Howland and Alaric we’re away as well and Greywater Watch was feeling more empty than ever. She was going to miss them both. She had no idea when she’d even see Howland again.

She was feeling especially grateful to him. A few days before he’d left for Winterfell he’d come upon her while she was reading a letter from her Uncle Oberyn. He was delighted it was finally time to move. Excited to meet Jae and almost electric in his joy to be reunited with Rhaenys herself. He was concerned though, Uncle Doran was in the midst of a flare up of his gout. He needed to retreat to the Water Gardens, where his anxiety is less and the waters almost medicinal. With Oberyn leaving he feared placing Arianne in charge on her own. 

What Rhaenys was most focused on was her eldest uncle. She’d known he had gout, she’d just never before realised how severe it was. She hadn’t even noticed the tear falling from her eye until Howland was there, passing her his handkerchief.

She sniffed, embarrassed, “Oh, I’m sorry Lord Reed, I thought I was alone.”

He waved his hand and sat upon the black wood bench beside her. “What’s wrong, Rhae? Has there been bad news?”

She shook her head. “I’m just foolish is all. The severity of my Uncle Doran’s gout took me by surprise, though the condition is nothing new.”

His green eyes widened. “I was unaware the Prince of Dorne suffered from gout.”

She bit her lip. “He prefers to keep it quiet, though most people know he’s not well. I just wish there was something I could do for him, he and Uncle Oberyn mean so much to me and have looked after me as best they can from afar.”

He nodded his head before asking her to come with him. He led her to the medical wing of the castle. It was like nothing she’d seen in other places, though her memories were spotty she knew that neither the Red Keep nor Dragonstone had it’s like. They had no maester but honestly seemed only better for it. They had multiple healers and assistants. Even surgeons like from Essos, though only two.

She knew the Crannogmen were much advanced in medicine. She’d been angry when she’d learned this. Upset they kept it to themselves. Though she should’ve known better. They’d been so maligned and belittled by maesters and outsiders that they weren’t believed even when they tried to share knowledge. The smallfolk had their own healers, and hedge witches who did take advice from the crannogmen. Though without ready access to the same plants and herbs, or much literacy they weren’t as successful or prevalent. The highborn were fools though, the Crannogmen had much higher rates of survival for women in childbed than the grey rats did. Maybe she’d beg one of the healers to come with her to whatever castle she became lady of in the future.

In the medical wing Howland talked quietly to one of the healers, Koren, while Rhae looked around. He came and got her after only a minute or two with a wide smile on his face.

“I wanted to be certain before I got your hopes up but Koren confirmed my thoughts. We know quite a few treatments for gout here and while the potion to outright cure it is pricey due to it being difficult and dangerous to brew, we would be happy to prepare some for Prince Doran.”

Rhaenys felt the tears rush to her eyes, she usually wasn’t so weepy, dragons were strong after all, she just couldn’t help it. If this was true… she could give back to her uncles. She knew her mother would be overcome at the idea of it. They were the only pieces of her mother she had left. While Ashara and Arthur had known her and Ashara had been her closest friend, none knew her as well, nor were as close to her as her big brothers.

Rhaenys laughed, delighted beyond words. “Truly? You can truly cure him?”

Koren nodded happily, her ashy blond hair falling into her eyes. “Yes. It’ll take at least a moon to gather the needed ingredients and brew it though. And some damage may be irreversible, though I’m hopeful I’ve never seen him and don’t want to get your hopes up that he’ll be as strong as he was before the gout. Until then we can send a letter to your uncle telling him the treatments we know. He should be able to get fish and cherries in Dorne, yes?”

“Of course. I don’t know how to thank you. I owe your people and lord so much already, more than I could ever pay back. Anything you need of me, if it’s within my power or my brother’s we’ll see it done.” She spoke the words with conviction for she meant every one. She also knew Jaehaerys would honour her word. He loved her, and he considered the Martells his family as well. He’d want to help.

“You owe us nothing, child.” Howland said kindly. “This is what friends and family do, care for and protect each other. I’d ask no more than that of you or your brother. Now run along and write that raven to your uncles. I’ll leave instructions for two riders to bring the potion to the Water Gardens as soon as it’s finished. Tell Doran to expect Crannogmen in two moons, and to please see that they’re given safe passage through Dorne and back.”

Howland seemed to debate something before asking her questions that greatly concerned her. “I’m curious if you know the symptoms your uncle has, princess? Because while I’m unsure if the maesters know our cure for the illness Koren is certain they have other effective treatments.”

Rhaenys froze. She’d not thought of that, she had no idea about gout at all, and less about her uncles symptoms. Just that he was in pain, and could not walk most of the time. 

“I know… I know only that it pains him and leaves him unable to walk. Oberyn has mentioned draining before. That’s the extent of my knowledge, Lord Reed.”

Howland shook his head and muttered something about ‘grey rats’. His next question made her feel as if fire was coursing through her veins, burning, burning, begging to be released. 

“Do you know much about the illness your mother suffered? I only know that she was frail, that she had little energy, and that Aegon’s pregnancy and birth almost killed her.”

Rhaenys felt a tremor through her body. Was Howland suggesting what she thought he was? Were maesters weakening her family, doing more than that?

She felt a fool, she  _ knew _ that Pycelle had done something to her grandmother, given her moon tea perhaps to make sure most of her pregnancies didn’t come to term. She  _ knew _ that he had likely killed some of the babes that had been born. With Rhaegar, Viserys, and Daenerys she’d managed to stay on Dragonstone for the majority of her pregnancies. Managed to keep them away from Pycelle.

According to Grandmother Rhaella she had tried to tell Aerys but he would not believe her. She had thought Pycelle in Tywin Lannister’s pocket, which the Sack proved to be correct. But they’d all just assumed it was Pycelle. That Tywin wanted to make sure the throne was weak, that Rhaegar did not have a sister he could marry. He wanted Cersei to be their only option.

Could it be bigger than that? Or was she overreacting and jumping to conclusions.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Howland. I’ll need to speak to Ser Arthur about this, and the rest as well when they arrive. For now I’ll try Ser Oswell and see what he knew of my mother’s illness,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“I will go to the Godswood and pray on it, princess. Mayhaps they’ll give me answers. For now why don’t you think on happier things? Go write to your uncle, we’ll make sure he’s better soon,” he assured her in that quiet way of his.

One day the Reeds would need to visit Dorne. After this all crannogmen would be friends of the Dornish, she’d be surprised if one would need pay for a drink or a whore from the Red Mountains all the way to the Broken Arm.

Now all she could do was wait. Wait for the potion to be prepared and delivered, wait for Jaehaerys and Lyanna to return, wait for the throne to be back under the family it belonged to. Wait to have all of her remaining family returned to her. Wait to learn if there was a conspiracy among the maesters. And in the meantime she’d pack and prepare for Highgarden and ruminate on ways to bring down the grey rats. She was starting to wonder if maybe her stay there would be longer than anyone expected.

…….

The day her brother was set to return Rhaenys could barely contain her joy. She and Ashara helped Jyanna with preparations while biding their time, then all three women, and Jyanna and Howland’s daughter Meera got ready to greet them together.

Standing still with Ashara, Jyanna, Meera and the Reed’s son Jojen was more than difficult. It was  _ impossible _ . As soon as her brother had dismounted she was racing towards him. Not even pausing to assess the little girl that looked so much like Mother Lyanna that had rode in on the other side of Jae from Margaery.

“Valonqar!” Rhaenys yelled as she crashed into her little brother, “I missed you! I’m so glad you’re back and hope all went well?” Her words cut off as she looked at his face. There was a nasty gash coming down through his eyebrow to right below his left eye. It looked like he was lucky to still have his eye. What in the seven fucking hells had happened in Winterfell?

She didn’t miss his slight flinch at that, and how the silly fool turned his head away, as if that would make her forget the scabbing cut, and she definitely didn’t miss the blinding smile and infectious joy that came over him a second later.

“It went better than we could have ever imagined, Rhae. Though there was one incident that we’ll need to discuss later.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her over and waving for the rest of the welcoming party to follow him as well. 

Looks like she would have to wait for an explanation, it was difficult to imagine who was at fault and if that Tully bitch had anything to do with it she’d fry the trout and feed her to Ghost herself. And damn her brother’s wishes. She too knew what it was like to not have a mother, and while she felt bad for the Stark children… many children would lose parents in the war to come, that didn’t mean the war was unjust and their mother deserved death already for how she’d treated Jaehaerys.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Let’s get these introductions over with quickly as there’s something you need to see immediately.”

She raised a brow at him but followed his lead with a shrug. He introduced her to Arya Stark first, her brother’s favourite Stark sibling, which Rhaenys was happy to point out to the little she wolf. She was right in thinking it would ease some of the jealousy and possessiveness she saw in the girl’s long face. Rhaenys understood, she too struggled with both in relation to Jaehaerys and his relationships to the Stark children. She was just older and had been dealing with the situation longer. She’d forever be his only older sister and right or wrong she was his only blood sibling left. As he is hers, maybe eventually she could come to see Arya as a sister to her as well and she felt comforted when she remembered that Margaery Tyrell was her sister now too.

Jaehaerys hurried everyone through the introductions in a most unkingly and very rude way and she noticed Olenna Tyrell roll her eyes before Jae once again grabbed Rhae’s hand and dragged her over to another set of horses pulling a cart. It was odd, the cart looked to be holding large bird cages with sheets tied over them.

“Brother, what is this? Can this not wait, I’d like to know how you almost lost an eye.”

Instead of answering her he just started undoing one of the bindings before flipping the sheet of the middle cage back. Her eyes widened and she let out something unintelligible.

Rhaenys couldn’t believe her eyes. She kept the cages in her peripheral while scanning the faces of those that journeyed from Winterfell. It was obvious by their faces that this was no trick. She looked back to her brother, quickly hugging him before racing back to the cart and casting aside all propriety as she lifted her skirt to jump into the cart. She threw caution to the wind and opened its door quick as a snake and held out her arm.

The beautiful creature looked like fire given form and her heart must’ve been on the verge of bursting as the dragon climbed up her arm, staring deep into Rhaenys eyes with it’s own orange ones.

“Elianix,” she gasped and the tears started flowing.

…..

An hour later saw her, Jae, Ser Oswell, Lyanna, Olenna, Margaery, and Willas in Howland’s solar. The blood red dragon was perched on Jae’s shoulder, the pearly white dragon that should’ve been Aegon’s sat in Rhaenys’ lap, while Elianix was curled around her neck like a very hot necklace. It had been difficult to get Arya to leave them but Arthur promised to give her a lesson if she’d but bathe first and she’d been off like a shot. That girl was a handful. Jaehaerys or Arthur would have to fill in Ashara later. 

“So little brother, what was this one incident and how did you hatch the dragons and where in the hells did you find two more eggs?” It was all vexing, she wished even more that she could’ve gone with him but the risk was too great.

He looked at her nervously. “Just remember I’m fine. I’m right here in front of you and but for one, two scratches remain uninjured.”

She felt her blood start to heat up, “What do you mean TWO scratches? I see the one plain as day, where is the other?”

And he told her. Lyanna interjected a few times, and Margaery only once to explain how she’d known something was wrong. Rhaenys saw red. Those gods be damned fish, they’d well and truly woken the dragon and Rhaenys would turn Hoster and his harpy of a daughter to ash and maybe his other two children as well. 

Jae saw the fire in her and quickly made her laugh, explaining how he’d love to see their faces when they found out they’d not have the dragons without their idiocy. The laughter didn’t last long and she looked up to see Ser Oswell shaking and white with rage.

“Your Grace, we never should have let you go without both of us! You could be dead right now if you hadn’t… had whatever strange magic you had. You won’t go anywhere without one of us now and you need more guards than us now.” It was rare Rhaenys saw the usually laughing man so serious but she had to agree with him.

Jaehaerys looked chastened. “I understand and I’m sorry. Does it help that they didn’t try to kill me because I’m a Targaryen but because the Tullys are hateful and think themselves much smarter than they actually are?”

Oswell locked eyes with Rhaenys for a moment before both turned back to him, shaking their heads. “No, it does not help.”

………..

Later that night Rhaenys sat with Elianix and Aegon’s pearly white dragon resting in her lap. She and Jaehaerys would need to name him together. She’d been proud that both had honored their fallen family with the names they chose. Rhaegon was different though. Larger and with four legs instead of two, something she’d never even heard of and that they’d need to look into further. Jae had taken him and the other two he’d stumbled upon in the Winterfell crypts with him. She had a theory about who’s they were and her brother agreed. It seemed likely they were from Jacaerys Velaryon and his dragon Vermax.

She looked up from the dragons as Mother Lyanna and Lady Olenna entered. Jaehaerys was angrier and more wrathful than she’d expected, though she shouldve realised with how he and Margaery Tyrell were now tied together that he would be. He’d given her, his mother, and good grandmother free reign to dismantle the Trouts. 

She’d made it clear to both women that she didn’t just want them dead, she wanted them ruined. She wanted their House to crumble and their name to be dust on the wind. They were going to out the Tullys as the dishonourable, bottom feeders they were and just the thought of it made her blood sing. Apparently it made Elianix’s blood sing as well for she let out a sharp cry. Rhaenys was certain it would get more intimidating as she grew. For now it was quite adorable.

Rhaenys had known Lyanna was on the same page. She’d been awaiting this moment for years. And she had many reasons to loathe them. There was Hoster’s part in her betrothal to Robert Baratheon and Ned’s fostering with the oaf and Arryn. Then there was his and Catelyn’s part in Brandon and Ashara’s tragedy. Lysa and Hoster almost certainly played a role in the deaths of Brandon and Lord Rickard. The final nail in the coffin had been her abusive and neglectful treatment of Jae and this attack had just doused the coffin in oil.

Olenna seemed to be on the same page. This was the biggest opportunity her House had ever gotten and she also fiercely loved her granddaughter.

Rhaenys was delighted that Lyanna hadn’t been idle in her threats all this time. She’d been busy digging for information to bring the Tullys to their knees. And Ser Richard and Lord Varys had not disappointed.

That it would damage the Falcons as well as the Trouts was a delightful bonus.

* * *

**Brynden**

Brynden had ridden out from the Bloody Gate as soon as he'd been able after receiving the letter from his brother and he was relieved to be back home, though his concern was unabated. He’d almost not believed it when it had arrived, a letter demanding he return to Riverrun from his stubborn brother who’d not spoken to him since the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was so unlike Hoster to come to him for help, at least outside of a war. His reasons made Brynden even more concerned for his brother’s wellbeing. None of it made sense.

He’d wanted to leave the very next morn but Lysa had made him wait, claiming a need to find a replacement Knight of the Bloody Gate. He knew she'd just wanted to hurt her father, wanted to deny him whatever it was in her power to. And considering what Hoster had done to the girl all those years ago he couldn’t be too upset at her over it. So he waited, stewing and ruminating all the while.

First had come the news that Hoster was ill. Brynden wasn’t sure how long Hoster had been ill but Lysa had told him she’d first been informed moons ago, when the king was on his way to Winterfell to make Stark the new Hand. He was still angry she’d not told him then and it made him question whether his time in the Vale was at an end.

On the tail end of that raven had come the news that his favourite niece’s shame had been blessed by the Gods and soulbound to the Tyrell girl. That had been a blow but who was he to question the Gods? His only concern was how his niece and brother would react to it. 

Catelyn had been increasingly paranoid and obsessive about Ned’s bastard son and it worried Brynden. Yes, he was a shame to their House, yes, him being blessed with a soulmark was an embarrassment, but that was the extent of the damage the boy could do. He wasn’t thrilled by the boy being raised so high by the Gods, and in sight of the whole realm. The word had spread and he’d heard people discussing it the entire way from the Vale to Riverrun. It was a bit incredible how fast the word had gotten out.

Based off of the few ravens he’d received from his grandnephews he appeared to love his trueborn siblings dearly and they him. Cat should’ve fostered that love instead of trying to pit them against each other. As a little girl Cat had been the brightest part of his life. She was sweet and smart as a whip. The woman she’d grown into was not what he’d expected of her. One of the first things she’d said to him, after being apart for years was about Jon Snow and it troubled him greatly. She’d said, “The king is planning a tourney in honour of the bastard and his Tyrell bride, a tourney that’s also meant to honour my Ned as Hand of the King in equal pride of place. It’s an insult.”

Brynden did not think Ned Stark would take it as such. It wasn’t such a bad idea to honour the first soulmarked pair in living memory. Her obvious hate and obsession would’ve been concern enough but then she’d mumbled something that had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something about the boy not getting to see the tourney in any case. And then she’d smiled. She was fraying, so similar to Lysa last he saw her and it was not a flattering comparison. Though where Cat was angry, hateful, and irrationally fearful over this news Lysa had been ecstatic. She’d laughed so hard she’d cried.

Brynden had hoped Hoster would be able to settle his daughter and that neither would find out how much joy Lysa had taken from the news. His brother’s obvious fear and distress over the situation had shocked him. Hoster was no fool and he should’ve known that politically, even with a Tyrell bride the boy was no threat to Winterfell. But looking at his brother and hearing his words gave him no relief. He wasn’t sure which was causing him more alarm, his big brother’s obvious poor physical health, or his equally as poor mental health.

Hoster’s voice knocked him out of his temporary stupor, “Well, did you hear me you old goat? We need to prepare Edmure, get back up North and that boy of hers wed to a Northern maiden. I’ve heard nothing from Winterfell recently and they should’ve arrived by now.”

His brother shook his head. “Likely my goodson is busy mourning his bastard as if he’d been his trueborn heir.”

Brynden blinked. Once. Twice. His brother couldn’t mean… “What are you talking about brother, why are you so certain the boy is dead?”

When Hoster just stared at him in response Brynden cursed. “Please tell me you didn’t send someone to murder Jon Snow. That you’re playing a terrible jape. My brother would  _ never _ be so stupid!”

Hoster inhaled sharply, sending him into a coughing fit. Brynden quickly sent for Maester Vyman then rushed to put a glass of water to his brother’s lips, patting him firmly on the back. He was shocked to feel his ribs and spine due to all the weight he’d lost. On top of that Hoster’s face was so red it was almost purple, and Brynden felt a true stab of fear then. It was obvious his brother did not have long to live. He finally ceased his coughing, gulping down air as if he’d been drowning.

At that moment a young man Brynden didn’t recognize rushed in and he quickly moved to block the stranger. He couldn’t be more than twenty, with muddy red hair and even muddier eyes. He was slight and pasty and his trembling told Brynden he was no fighter. In the next moment he noticed the chain around the boy’s neck, though he wasn’t wearing the usual grey robes. Brynden relaxed, though still stared at the boy wondering who in the Seven Hells he was.

From behind him he heard Hoster’s tired, raspy voice, “Let him pass Brynden. Vyman is no longer with us, he was not as loyal as we’d thought. The craven ran in the night weeks ago. This is his temporary replacement, Maester Patrek.”

Bryden moved to the side, standing dumbly for a moment. He retook his seat and the maester (who to Brynden looked like the greenest of spring grass) warned Hoster not to get too excited, gave the Blackfish a reproachful look and practically ran from the room upon seeing Brynden’s own dark look.

“What did you mean about Vyman? How has he been disloyal, he has been a great boon to our family.”

“I mean that I’ve worked to protect my family, Brynden. Vyman didn’t have the stomach for it and sneaked away like a coward. In all the truth Edmure didn’t have the stomach for it either. My son is soft, both in mind and in courage. He had the nerve to call Catelyn and I insane!” Hoster ranted.

Based on all he’d seen and heard, on all he’d inferred so far it seemed likely that he and Edmure were the only sane Tullys left. “Stop equivocating, I’m close to washing my hands of this and leaving you before Stark arrives, I don’t think his visit will be a pleasant one.”

That startled Hoster, a look of uncertainty crossing his features and a hint of what looked like fear in his Tully blue eyes. Finally, a reasonable reaction. It wasn’t to last because as quickly as it came Hoster shook his head and the confidence was back. 

“No. It’s not possible,” Hoster mumbled more to himself than Brynden before launching into the details of his brother’s blasphemous plans. The Blackfish had never been a coward, he’d been side by side with Ser Barristan on the Stepstones and fought furiously to end the last Blackfyre Rebellion, but he almost ran from that room and the evil deeds his brother spoke of.

But running would do no good. His family couldn’t run from the reckoning the Gods were surely sending. The Gods and the Tyrells, even if Hoster wasn’t as successful as he’d imagined neither would take this lying down. Stark they may be able to reason with, to at least keep the blame where it belonged.

Brynden was going to do all he could to shield Edmure, to make sure his House lived on at the end of this. Edmure and Lysa were at least innocent in this plot. Catelyn though… Her little remark about the boy not getting to see the tourney in his honour came back to him, and he knew. He was so torn on what to do with his niece when Stark came to their gate.

…………………………..

He managed to avoid her for a full day before she cornered him on the ramparts where he watched for the coming wolves.

“Uncle, if I didn't know better I’d think you were avoiding me. Though thank you for giving Bran a lesson in the yard, he’s not stopped talking about it since.”

His harsh glare stunned her so much she took a step back. He’d always worried Lysa would be the one to hurt their family and name. He had never expected it to be beautiful Catelyn, the very epitome of a true lady.

“I don’t think you know much of anything, niece,” he said caustically. “Who knew Edmure would be the only sane Tully left?”

Her face crumpled for a moment before turning red in a rage, a haughty look marring her beautiful features. “What would you know of any of it, hiding away at the Bloody Gate?”

Brynden shook his head, he wondered if this side of her had always been there, if it had festered and worsened in the North.

“What were you thinking, Cat? What do you think Ned Stark will do if he learns you plotted to kill his son, his  _ Soulmarked _ son?”

“Ned loves me,” she said confidently, though the slight tightening around her eyes and mouth told her she was less confident than her words portrayed. “He’d never believe me capable of such a thing. And he’ll see, with that boy gone things will be as they were always meant to be.”

He shook his head. “You don’t find it concerning he’s sent no word since before the wedding? No notice of his impending arrival? In fact nothing has been heard from Winterfell at all. I would’ve at least expected Sansa to send you letters.”

She chuckled, it set Brynden’s teeth grinding and he couldn’t believe that this was what his family had become. No care for family, little in the way of duty, and not a speck of honour. He had hope that Edmure would be different. He had to or he’d surely crumble.

“Not at all. You’re overreacting uncle, Ned likely means to surprise me.”

Brynden silently cursed his eldest niece for a fool, then changed tack, this was getting them nowhere. He was starting to think that Catelyn was just as far gone as Hoster. Only worse since she didn’t have old age or illness as an excuse.

“Fine. Put your husband aside for a moment. What do you think the Tyrells will do if you were successful? Remember if your foolish plot succeeded you’ve killed Lady Margaery as well.”

Her eyes went wide at that, her mouth dropping open. Was she truly this foolish? It seemed they’d not thought of the Tyrells at all. Hoster had an excuse, he was sick, his mind obviously ravaged. Because say what you will of Hoster Tully, no one could deny he’d been an astute politician and lord in his prime. Catelyn had no excuse and it was clear her spite and hate had poisoned Hoster’s weakened mind.

He pushed the point, cursing them for not thinking of this before they’d sent the assassin, before they courted the ire of gods and two Great Houses. “The Queen of Thorns is no fool. She will quickly put this together, your contempt for the boy is well known. If your actions killed her only granddaughter you will have doomed our House. Even if your plot failed… that may not be enough to save you and our name.”

He shook his head, “Especially since the Gods have surely forsaken us for you and my brother’s arrogance in raising a hand against their blessed.”

She shook a little and he was glad of it. She needed the fear put into her so even if she ever got a chance to do something so rash again, she’d think twice. He wished he’d arrived sooner, that Lysa hadn’t held him for so long, he could’ve stopped this mad plot. There was nothing for it, he’d just have to salvage what he could and do the one thing he never thought he would, pray for Ned Stark’s bastard. He almost told Cat to do the same but thought better of it at the last moment.

It wasn’t long before the shaking stopped. She raised her head once more, jaw jutting out. “The True Gods have not forsaken us. If they did then why have they blessed my daughter with a Soulmark to the Crown Prince?”

Now it was Brynden’s turn to be surprised, his mouth popping open. Another soulmark, and twice in the same family? He didn’t understand it. Either she was a liar or he was missing something.

“To the Crown Prince? Sansa?” he questioned her, dumbfounded.

“Of course Sansa, and who else would it be to? Oh Ned didn’t say it plainly, Sansa wants to tell me herself. Though who else could it be to?”

She laughed again, “So you see uncle, the Seven themselves approve of what father and i did. And Ned and the Tyrells never need know.”

With that she turned and walked away, a spring in her step, living in her fantasy world. For he knew then, Sansa was not soulmarked to Joffrey Baratheon. He could feel it in his bones.

* * *

**Catelyn**

Lady Catelyn Stark stood in the courtyard of Riverrun, awaiting the arrival of her husband and daughter. She was almost shaking with excitement, almost as eager for their arrival as Bran and Rickon were. She’d been spending as much time with them as she could and even letting Bran train with Edmure. She’d tried speaking to both on the boy but Rickon was too young and Bran wouldn’t hear of it. He was too sweet and loving, too happy. It was why he was her favourite. So she’d given up, realising there was no point, the boy was dead and couldn’t hurt her children. 

Her brother was waiting with her and he seemed overly apprehensive. Her brother didn’t know anything but the mood since her uncle had arrived made it clear things were not well. Though so long as she never has to see that bastard again she’d think it was the Seven Heavens.

She smiled widely when she saw him ride through the gate, she quickly urged Bran and Rickon to stand up straight. She had tried to keep the wolves in the kennels but the boys had worn her brother down and she’d relented when Edmure had requested to let them out. Before Ned could even dismount the beasts had raced forward, yipping and nuzzling their sister. She had to reach out and grab Rickon when he tried to run after that wild black wolf of his.

She tried to ignore the creatures as best she could and instead looked at the arriving party. There was a dark haired young man on a blood bay stallion riding beside Ned and a small hooded figure on her husband’s other side. She didn’t recognise the young man but she was more worried that she couldn’t see a carriage or cart for Sansa. Where was her daughter? She shook her head as Ned came to a stop in front of her and decided to enjoy being reunited with him, she’d need to comfort him as best she could.

She was unprepared to see Ned though because he was not smiling, and he didn’t look grief stricken either. His face was the cold mask of the Lord of Winterfell and she felt a bolt of fear run through her before talking her nerves down. Ned loved her, he’d never do anything to hurt her so she had nothing to fear.

She loved him too of course, though she couldn’t help but to sometimes imagine a more handsome face, couldn’t help but see Brandon; she couldn’t help but wish he’d abandon those demon gods of his and spread the Seven’s light throughout the North. But she did love him, she didn’t want to hurt him and though she knew losing the misbegotten Snow  _ would  _ hurt him, she also knew it would be better for him and their family in the long run.

Ned dismounted his dark grey horse, not even sparing her a look as he walked to the smaller dappled mare next to him, helping the small hooded figure dismount. She was taken aback when the figure took down their hood and it was her Sansa. Her perfect lady, the future queen had ridden a horse here? She couldn’t believe Ned made her do that. She should’ve been in a carriage. At least she’d been riding side saddle. Catelyn had been scandalised at Harrenhal seeing Ned’s wild sister racing Brandon, riding astride a stallion. She’d been furious when Ned had allowed Arya to ride in such a way, she’d be damned if Sansa did too. She knew she shouldn’t have left them in Winterfell alone. 

Sansa did not look excited to see her mother. She looked scared and even angry, which confused Catelyn. What could have happened? Her daughter should’ve been radiant with the joy of being soulmarked, and to a prince! Catelyn wondered if the marking would have a golden lion or brilliant stag. She couldn’t wait to see it. So she stepped forward to greet her family and finally welcome her daughter to the south, to where Sansa belonged.

…..

Ned had barely spoken to her. He’d gone through the greetings quickly then begged off to bathe and rest before speaking to her father. He’d made it plain he wished to be alone. She was frightened, questioning herself, hoping he truly was just tired, just mourning, just needed to speak to her father about some other issue.

It was hard but she managed to stay her fears for the moment and sought out her daughter, who’d asked for a bath and practically fled from her mother. She gave her girl some time to get settled, leaving Bran and Rickon with that boy maester who’s name she could never seem to remember.

She waited another quarter of an hour before walking into Lysa’s old bedchamber after knocking twice and receiving no response. Sansa was sitting on the bed, knees tucked up to her chest and staring out of the window at the red river below. She looked more lost than she’d ever seen her. Was the bastard’s death affecting Sansa this much? They weren’t even close! Catelyn had made certain of that.

She slowly walked to the bench by the window, taking the opportunity to look her oldest girl over. Sansa got lovelier by the day. Cat could admit proudly that her oldest would surpass even her own beauty once she’d flowered. A flowering which should happen very soon, Sansa was four and ten, Catelyn herself had flowered at three and ten. Hopefully, this wasn’t a sign of an issue?

She was fresh from the bath, though instead of being dressed for the small feast later she was in her night shirt and oddly enough she was still wearing her riding gloves. Catelyn could not understand why she would put them back on after bathing and changing.

“Sansa dear, it’s so good to see you again. I’m so very proud of you! May I see your Mark?” She asked genuinely, it wouldn’t do for her to show any sign of knowing about Jon Snow’s much deserved fate.

Sansa fidgeted her hands, staring down at her grey riding gloves. She’d have to get her more colours in her wardrobe, Sansa was in the South now and to be princess soon, she’d never have to dress for the dreary North again. She’d hopefully never stand before one of those horrid trees again.

Her daughter still hadn’t said a word. She was biting her lip, which Cat had instructed her not to do many times and furrowing her eyebrows, still just staring at her covered hands. Catelyn started to wonder if her Soulmark was on her hand but couldn’t fathom a reason to cover it up, couldn’t imagine why her child seemed so upset. It couldn’t be over the boy. She’d made sure he’d not sunk his claws into Sansa. Catelyn had warned her daughter repeatedly, and proper lady she is, Sansa actually listened. Which was more than could be said for her other daughter…

Then Sansa, her sweet Sansa asked her something that left Catelyn cold. “Why did you lie mother? Why did you tell me Jon forced you to leave when he did no such thing?”

The look on her little girl’s face was almost as cold as Catelyn’s blood felt but she could see the hurt there.  _ Damn that bastard, had he told her this before he was killed? _

“Sansa, I’m not sure what you mean. You know you cannot trust bastards, they are wicked and duplicitous,” she tried while desperate for the Crone to show her the way through this.

Her daughter just shook her head, disappointed. “Jon is a bastard no longer mother, and it’s not just Jon I learned the truth from. Are you calling father duplicitous and wicked too?”

Catelyn’s heart clenched, she was speaking of the bastard in the present, as if he still lived. She wanted to shatter something, to scream. She’d failed, she’d failed, her  _ father _ had failed.

She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to settle herself. “Of course not sweetling. I… I knew that was in his heart. I just wanted you to be wary, to keep your guard up. Especially now he’s been Marked…” She clenched her fists, trying to keep them from shaking. She couldn’t let on that she knew.

“He was attacked you know,” Sansa said pointedly, “the night after he was wed.”

Catelyn just shook her head, widened her eyes.

“He, Lady Margaery...” Sansa paused here, eyes locked on Catelyn’s own. She didn’t know where this girl came from but she’d never looked more like a Stark. “...and  _ Arya _ are lucky to be alive,” she finished.

And she knew her four and ten year old child just caught her out because Catelyn Tully Stark reeled back and the words were out of her mouth before her brain could catch up to it. “What do you mean Arya? How was Arya hurt, I told-” she quickly clapped her hand over her mouth before she could incriminate herself further.

It took her a moment but she thought of a way to salvage this. “I told her to stay away from that damned boy!”

Sansa’s eyes were colder than ice before shuttering in pain. “The assassin attacked Arya when she tried to stop him from entering the Crypts, it wasn’t Jon’s fault but the fault of whoever sent the man,” she said, looking directly at her mother.

No, it’s most definitely the bastard’s fault. He’s who encouraged Arya to be so bold. To confront a strange man… Hopefully the girl had learned a valuable lesson. Catelyn was tired of hearing about Snow, she wanted to know about her trueborn daughter. And she didn’t want to risk another slip up. She’d think on the boy and plan with her father later. Once Brynden, Ned and the children were asleep. Edmure was certainly included amongst the children.

“Luckily Ser Domeric,” Sansa actually blushed when she said his name, “found Arya unconscious in a dark corner and carried her to Maester Luwin.”

Cat sagged in relief. She was going to kill that incompetent idiot. She should've known not to trust some baseborn commoner to carry this out.

“I’m very glad your sister is alright. Is that why she’s not here?” she asked, confused. To her shame she hadn’t given much thought to her wild daughter’s absence.

Sansa responded quickly, eager to relieve her mother’s concern, “Oh no, Arya will meet us in King’s Landing. Father agreed to foster her with Jon and Lady Margaery.” Her daughter informed her of this horrific news with a sweet smile on her face.

It appeared the bastard had finally gotten to Sansa. She’d known leaving without her this could happen. Damn Ned, and damn him to the Seven Hells for fostering Arya with his by blow!

She made a pained choking noise, continuing on furiously, “I’ll be discussing this with your father. Mark my words Arya will not be fostering with that, that horrible bastard!”

Her sweet girl’s nostrils flared, she quickly stood from her perch on Lysa’s old bed. “He’s not a bastard, mother! He’s Jon  _ Stark _ now. He’s Godsblessed, just like me!”

Catelyn stood too, looking down at her most obedient child, her sweetest daughter. “You are nothing like that boy. The True Gods couldn’t have blessed him so. They  _ wouldn’t. _ You though were truly blessed Sansa. Chosen and honored by the Seven themselves binding you to a Prince and follower of the True Faith.”

Sansa laughed, a hysterical edge to it, tears forming in her eyes. Instead of replying to her mother’s words she started peeling off her riding gloves. Once they were off her daughter shoved her hands at her. Cat’s eyes were immediately drawn to the hand to her right. It was a beautiful image, Lady the Direwolf but with Tully blue eyes.

She’d believed Ned of course, but believing was one thing, seeing another. This was proof, this was a blazing sign from the True Gods that Cat was right to try to rid the world of Ned’s by blow but before she could think on it too long Sansa snatched her left hand back and shoved her right hand into her mother’s face.

The Lady of Winterfell let out a scream in horror, her head went light as air, and her stomach roiled. It was monstrous. She didn’t understand how the Gods could do this to her precious daughter. Not only had they ripped her away from the Crown Prince, denying her her rightful place but they’d bound her to a heathen in order to do so. Then to add insult to injury they had tarnished her beauty with this horror. The image was as gruesome as the one of Lady was regal and beautiful.

“What is this?” she rasped, her stomach still heaving and head still spinning. She fell back onto the bench, head banging against the window but she didn't even feel it. “This is a cruel jape, right? Some sick joke?” she practically begged.

Tears were flowing freely down Sansa’s face. Catelyn wanted to comfort her favourite daughter but she saw that horrible flayed horse, it’s eyes and mane like fire. The tendons and muscles… she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Sansa lowered her head, her fiery locks blocking her beautiful face, so like her own. “It’s true, my Marked is Ser Domeric Bolton...future Lord of the Dreadfort,” her voice cracked on the last word and Catelyn’s hopes and dreams shattered with it.

Had she been wrong? Were the Gods punishing her all over a damn bastard and the daughter of upjumped stewards? It’s not as if she succeeded.

_ No,  _ she thought,  _ no, that can’t be it.  _ This was the work of the Old Gods and the Seven would see it set right. As soon as Snow was no more.

With that thought she steeled herself and went to hug her little girl.

“I… it’s not as bad as it seems at first,” Sansa claimed quietly and Catelyn looked at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

She continued, her voice growing stronger and more determined as she went, “It’s true that Lord Bolton frightens me.” Catelyn shivered herself, the Leech Lord frightened her too and she’d fight with all she had to keep him away from her sweet girl.

“But Domeric.” Sansa caught herself and blushed, Cat’s blood running cold at the sight. “ _ Ser _ Domeric,” she corrected herself, “Is completely different. He’s noble and true. He’s so very handsome and plays the harp almost as well as Jon.”

She should’ve known but she’d be caught so off guard, she’d never heard of a Soulmarked pair not coming to love each other immensely. She’d need to speak to her father. From all she knew of Soulmarks her daughter was lost to her in this, but there had to be some way to undo it.

Catelyn bristled at the mention of the bastard’s musical talent and Sansa saw it instantly, disentanginly herself from her mother and scooting down the bed, her face and eyes once more as cold as the North.

“I haven’t forgotten that you lied about the letter. I was such a fool to believe that Jon would or  _ could _ force you from Winterfell. I wonder what other lies you’ve told me.”

Catelyn made to interject, to deny any lies and make her understand that she was just protecting her but Sansa held up her hand and Cat grimaced at the thought of the image on the other side.

“Before you lie to me further remember that I’ve spoken to Jon and he told me many conflicting things. So I-”

She’d had enough, her ire piqued, “You would believe a baseborn bastard over me, over your own lady mother?” she demanded, indignant.

“He is NOT a bastard!” Sansa yelled. “He is Jon Stark, and he is my brother. I’m lucky that despite your best efforts and my own foolish actions he still names me sister. It was he and Lady Margaery that helped me through being Soulmarked. And if you had let me finish you’d know I spoke to Robb, Arya and father as well. Why mother?”

Gods he’d stolen Sansa as well. Her precious southern lady. She couldn’t stand it. The judgement, the betrayal, and the anger in her daughter’s eyes, the fear she felt that every day the sword over her and her children’s necks was inching closer and closer. The fear she’d been caught in more ways than this.

So Lady Catelyn Tully Stark tucked tail and ran. She swam away like the trout from the bear, no, the trout from the wolf. Leaving her daughter crying behind her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

* * *

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Ned was sick of feeling conflicted, he wished he could stop staring at the boy he’d raised as his son though he couldn’t see much of that boy in him any longer. He was certain Jon had noticed his looks but he couldn’t stop himself. It was probably the only reason he looked forward to splitting up. That and getting away from the glares of his siblings and Ser Arthur. He was honestly surprised he’d not felt Dawn’s kiss, Arthur looked as if he’d debated it.

He wasn’t sure who’s looks unnerved him more, Lyanna’s or the Sword of the Morning’s.

Though he would rather deal with their sharp gazes than go on to Riverrun. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his goodfather, he only knew he didn't want the truth before the entire realm. He was relieved Jon and the others agreed, though for reasons different than his own.

He was even less sure on what he’d do with his wife. Only that for the time being she couldn’t return to the North. Despite how much she loved the south and looked down on his lands and people, she would not like that at all. 

Cat. He could and couldn’t believe that she would take part in a plot to kill his ‘son’. Though he knew it was more that he didn’t  _ want _ to believe it. He was also not looking forward to her learning of Sansa and Domeric Bolton. The lad seemed a different sort than his father at least but he knew Cat wouldn’t care either way.

While he could see the benefits of a match between them, bringing in the Boltons is something his family had been trying to do for millenia, he still wished it hadn’t happened.

For almost all of his life he’d wanted to tie his family to Robert in a real and tangible way. Robert was the brother he chose and while he’d never be his brother for true now, they could’ve wed their children. Sansa would’ve been a wonderful queen, though he took comfort in her remaining North.

There was no way to change it. The Gods Old and New had spoken. He just hoped Catelyn would listen. He knew she’d be distraught at the news, and worse once she learned of Alaric. Ned, despite all his conversations with Howland he still didn’t know how to handle that situation. And he hated all the lies he’d need to tell before this was over.

The day they arrived at Moat Cailin Ned watched as Ser Arthur instructed Jon and Loras in jousting. He’d never been big on the practice and had little and less respect for riding in tourneys. He was surprised by how excited Jon was to compete, though he knew it would be strange if Jon didn’t compete in at least one event at the blasted thing. Ned was just relieved his nephew had chosen the joust over the melee. Jon was a fierce fighter but only six and ten name days, the risk was too great.

He’d only watched Jon joust just once before and it was obvious the boy had improved leaps and bounds. Jon had always been a natural rider, his horsemanship on par with Lyanna’s and Brandon’s and they’d been oft referred to as a pair of centaurs themselves.

Brandon had told him once that jousting was three-quarters horsemanship and Lyanna had proven the truth of his words at Harrenhal. Based on that alone Jon should go far in the event, even without much time and training in wielding a lance.

Ned felt some guilt at that thought. For while he heard the boy had improved exponentially in the few moons he’d been training again...there’s no telling how proficient he could be if Ned hadn’t forbidden him train. If he’d just ignored Catelyn, if he’d not been so adamant and paranoid about Jon standing out in any way, he’d be unstoppable. Even a novice like him could see the boy’s technique had improved and he seemed evenly matched with the youngest Tyrell already.

They lined up for another tilt and Ned turned away, his mind flashing back to Rhaegar riding against Ser Barristan, to a small figure in mismatched armour…

………………

Standing in the courtyard of Riverrun Ned would give anything to be back in Moat Cailin with his ghosts and fears.

Seeing his wife and her family lined up he didn’t know which was stronger, his anger, his fear, or his regret. And seeing Ser Brynden there, and Hoster nowhere in sight gave him pause. The Blackfish looked uncomfortable and angry, like he too wished to be anywhere but where they were. He’d need to speak to him. Preferably before he spoke to either his wife or goodfather. He wouldn’t believe the famed knight had anything to do with this awful business and hoped him being here would be a boon and not another impediment.

He didn’t have to wait long, Brynden offered to escort Ned to his room and after he hugged his youngest boys he followed silently after the famed knight.

They entered the room and the Blackfish went and poured two glasses of wine. “Do you know why I’m here?”

Brynden sighed, “I know why you’re here. I want to be clear that I had no part in this. By the time I arrived you were already heading this way.”

Ned nodded. “Aye, I didn’t think you were involved in this mess. It’s too dishonourable and too idiotic. Your family is lucky their attempt failed, I wouldn’t have been able, nor would I have been inclined to hold anyone back.”

The other man shivered. “Are you going to take this to the king?”

He shook his head. “I’d prefer not to but I cannot think of a way around it. From what I’ve heard my goodfather is not a well man.”

“My brother is very ill, and it affects his mind most of all, otherwise he’d never had taken part in this.”

“Was your nephew involved? Was...was your niece?” Ned asked looking down at his hands. He didn’t notice the flash of pain that crossed the other man’s face.

Brynden started pacing, Ned took a moment to sit on the cushioned bench at the end of the overly fluffy looking bed and remove his riding boots.

“No. My nephew I’m completely certain was uninvolved. He had no idea of this plot and even rightly chastised my brother and niece over their fear of your son.” Brynden took a breath and slumped down into a chair by the window. “As for my niece… I’m not certain either way,” he mumbled looking down at his hands.

It wasn’t what Ned wanted to hear but it wasn’t what he feared either. What Howland had claimed was true… What if he could be honest with himself he knew was true.

“I’m relieved about your nephew, that at least makes some things easier. I’m just not sure what to do about your brother.”

Brynden Tully’s voice was hard and sad as he said, “I have an idea about that, my lord.”

The more they spoke about Brynden’s plan, the more the weight fell off of Ned’s shoulders. This would work. He just hoped Lyanna and Lady Olenna would be satisfied.

…….

The next day he made his way to his goodfather’s solar early. He’d avoided his wife and to his surprise she didn’t come to him. Which made him wary, he couldn’t understand it, it was very unlike her. But Catelyn would have to wait. He and Brynden had a plan and he’d been slightly surprised to find that Lord Edmure agreed with him. 

The young man had been incensed when they told him what had happened. He’d denied it at first but he’d stopped once he read Maester Vyman’s letter, the blood had drained from his face in either anger or fear, Ned hadn’t known which. Perhaps both.

So Ned made his way to the solar of a man who had forced marriages on he and Jon Arryn in return for support in a just war. He honestly shouldn’t have been surprised by this. He’d known then that the man wasn’t honourable and if Ned believed Lyanna, he was much worse than he’d thought. If Lyanna was proven right here, would Ned have to accept there was much more she was right about? He feared that more than he’d admit to even himself.

As he passed a window he noticed a flash of red. At first he’d thought it was his lady wife but he was relieved to see it was Sansa sitting in the Godswood. Lady was at her feet and Domeric Bolton at her side. The man had been good for his daughter which soothed something in him. He seemed a better sort than Robert’s son, he never thought he’d think better of a Bolton than his friend’s son but it was true.

He’d also seemed to correct a shortcoming of Ned and Catelyn’s, helping peel back the rose tint his girl saw the world in. He could see now he and Cat had sheltered her, all of their children too much. Ned was surprised by the intelligence the Bolton heir was bringing out in her. He was also concerned she’d be influenced too much by he and his cousin Bethany Dustin. Sansa had fallen easily under the dark haired beauty’s influence. Considering who her mother was and the grudge Lady Barbrey held for him it was concerning.

Ned shook his head and quickly forced his face to shift to that of the cold and impassive Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North.

He knocked at the door and was quickly led inside. His goodfather was no longer the tall, stocky man he’d been during the rebellion. His illness was as serious as he’d heard. He also believed Ser Brynden that Hoster would’ve never taken this course of action if it weren’t for it but he had and now Ned had to clean up their mess before Jon’s dragons grew and he burned Riverrun and all of Ned’s good family to ash.

“Lord Tully, I believe you know why I’m here.” He put every ounce of ice in his veins into his words. This man had tried to kill Jon, his nephew, who he’d believed his son. He was suddenly filled with the rage he’d been forcing down since the night. He’d feared his rage would only fuel Jon and Lyanna’s.

Hoster looked at him, eyes narrowed, hands slightly shaking. Whether from illness, fear, or anger, Ned knew not. “I’d assumed you came to get your wife and sons before heading onto the capitol,” he said calmly.

Ned couldn’t help it, he snorted. “You’re smarter than that. Or at least I thought you were before you sent a man to kill my son. A man that attacked my daughter as well.”

There was finally some guilt on Hoster’s face, though no surprise which Ned found surprising. 

“You would blame me for protecting my grandsons inheritance and rightful place? You shamed and slighted my family every second that boy drew breath. My mistake wasn’t killing him in the cradle.”

Ned jumped to his feet, lunging at the older man. He rarely lost his temper but he was a Stark of Winterfell and the wolfsblood didn’t entirely miss him. Bryden caught him before Ned could bash his brother’s face in.

He took a few breaths and sat back down, finally looking to Brynden and nodding, he could take over from here.

“Brother, Ned and I have come up with a plan. A plan that will not lose us Riverrun and the Lord Paramountship. A plan that will not cause you to lose your head.” Brynden sounded heartbroken but he knew this was the only way.

Hoster just stared looking at his brother, his face turning redder with each word he utter. “You will step down as Lord of Riverrun, Edmure will take over and you will be taken care of and treated. I will stay to help Edmure. This way we can save our family the dishonour and shame if Ned were to take this to the King. We’re lucky that the Tyrells have agreed to let Ned handle this.”

Ned knew that wasn’t completely true. This was a stop gap and the only reason the Queen of Thorns was allowing it was because she didn’t want to risk Vyman telling about the dragons in a trial.

Lord Tully looked disgusted and angrier than Ned had ever seen the man. “You’re madder than Aerys if you think I’ll step aside.” He turned to Ned then and a crazed look entered his eyes, “And you! I see you, you want that bastard of a whore to rule the North. I’LL NOT HAVE IT! Catelyn will not have it! Neither myself or my daughter will allow that treacherous boy to take what’s Robb’s!,” he shouted before descending into a fit of coughing.

“You have NO CHOICE,” Ned shouted. “It’s already happening whether you rant and rave or accept it quietly. The letters are being sent as we speak declaring it so. Edmure is Lord now.” and with that Lord Eddard Stark stood and left. It was time to speak to his wife, left Brynden deal with his brother. Despite what the man had done Ned took no joy in hurting an ill man.

The person who was most to blame was likely his wife. And now Ned had to decide what to do with the mother of his children, the woman he loved. Because after hearing Hoster’s ravings he recognized his wife’s thoughts and words. But despite the likelihood of her driving this Ned still didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want Lyanna’s choices to take anything else from him. It wasn’t as if he could set her aside without cause either, without the Realm knowing of her actions that was… For now maybe it was best she stayed at Riverrun to care for her father. He could send Rickon back North with some of his guard. That was all he could do for now. He hoped it was enough.

* * *

**The Little Bird**

She’d been cleaning Lord Tully’s bedchambers when she finally heard something worth reporting, something that would be worth enough to get her out of service to the Trouts. She just hoped her missing the attack wouldn’t be held against her. There was naught to be done. She’d been about to sneak into one of the adjoining rooms to Lord Hoster’s study when Lord Edmure had come storming out and quickly ordered her down to the dining hall to lend a hand in preparing it for the small feast in honour of his sister’s arrival. She was able to send word that the lady looked distressed when she arrived but delighted once she’d left her father’s study, and the Lord Edmure had been sullen and angry since he’d left it. He’d barely speak to his sister and repeatedly mumbled that she was as bad a Lysa.

But now, now she had something she was certain the Spider would want. Hoster Tully to step down, Edmure Tully to take over the lordship with Brynden as non official regent of sorts.

It was the information shared after Lord Stark left though that she knew he’d really want. It was information that could ruin the Tully name for good. 

Ser Brynden had been surprised by his brother’s outburst, his aggression towards an innocent babe. Pera wasn’t sure why though. Hoster Tully’s cruelty was well known, he’d made no attempt to hide it during the Rebellion, putting an entire village to the sword. Nor did he try to hide his political ambitions and reaching ways. 

After Brynden admonished him and called Jon Snow an innocent in all of this Hoster lost it. Started ranting and Pera could almost hear the spittle flying out of his mouth from here.

“Bullshit! One bastard was already almost enough to ruin our House, I should’ve done to Snow what I did to Lysa and Baelish’s whelp. To think a daughter of mine carrying the bastard of a minor lord descended from Bravosi merchants!” He spat.

“Brandon Stark should’ve killed him that day but he was a disappointment in every other way as well. But he got his too, just like this Snow will. My only regret is not knowing of Lysa’s whore ways sooner, then maybe it wouldn’t have made her near barren,” Hoster snarled. “Cat’s my only child that’s turned out to be a major disappointment.”

After that the man had descended into another of his coughing fits. The Blackfish didn’t even wait to see he was well, he stormed from the room with a noise of disgust.

Pera left soon after, the former Lord Tully had either stopped coughing or died, she really didn’t care. She had to get into position to try to find out what Ned Stark would say to the wife that had tried to murder his son.

And then the little bird had a man to meet so a Spider could spin his web. 

* * *

**Roose Bolton**

The Lord of the Dreadfort was not a man of strong emotion, his desires were simple. He wanted the North to be as strong as possible, he wanted his son to be a worthy heir, and he wanted his House to have the respect and power the descendants of the Red Kings deserved.

He sat in Barbrey’s solar, sipping his hippocras, both in quiet contemplation. He thought on his goals and where he was on the board now. 

Before the Markings he’d been silently watching and waiting for any opportunity to replace Ned Stark as Warden. Not only was the man the worst sort of honourable fool, he was also an idiot and more Southron than not. Brandon with all his temper and rashness at least understood the North and his duty to it. In some ways he understood it better than Rickard. Roose admired the man’s ambition but disdained him for his folly of looking south to achieve it. The North did not need to be more Southron in order to thrive.

The Stark heir wasn’t horrible but he was too southron and his father had left him ill prepared. He’d shielded all of his children too much to the realities of the world and of politics. Honestly, his bastard raised nephew is likely the only one with any inkling of how the world is. He’d still need more instruction of course, Domeric would help with that. Roose needed him to get close to this would-be king. His son’s biggest hurdle would be keeping from getting too attached. That was Domeric’s weakness, he cared too much. 

Now though, there was a new piece. Brandon Stark’s son was one issue they had met to discuss. He wasn’t certain how Barbrey would react to such news but she was a smart woman.

As soon as he’d had the thought she spoke up, “So. Not only do we have a potential Targaryen King the Realm is unaware of, a Marked one at that, we have the true heir to the North that was also hidden by ‘Honourable’ Ned Stark since the blasted Rebellion.”

He could see the conflicting emotions on her face. She hated Aerys for killing Brandon and had cursed the Targaryen name ever since. But she liked Lyanna Stark and knew her son was a good chance for the North and an if not brilliant option, one they could work with. Plus, dragons. He also knew she was happy a piece of Brandon still lived, especially a boy that resembled him so much. Though she was certainly envious the boy wasn’t her own son.

Roose said nothing, waiting for her to get to her point. He was a very patient man.

“I think we should support the boy as we said we would. For now at least, we’ll need to see how this plays out.” She paused, getting to the point most important to her, “And I think we should support Brandon’s son as heir to Winterfell.”

“Why?” He wasn’t disagreeing with her, he just wanted to know her reasoning. She knew it and obliged him.

“Because he’s a true Stark. There’s no way Lyanna Stark would allow her big brother’s son to be raised as anything but a Northman. From what I know the Daynes are First Men as well. Dornish, but better than that zealous fish’s son.”

She was right but he pointed out that that fish’s daughter was his future good daughter.

She waved his concern away, “That girl will learn. Domeric will be lord, not her. All you need from her are heirs and I don’t see why that should have any bearing on our support of Alaric, especially if we can get him and Bethany together as Brandon and I should’ve been.”

Roose smiled. It was a chilling thing but he was pleased he and Barbrey were on the same page in this. He was relieved his bastard was dead, now he wouldn’t have to arrange an accident for him or send him to the Wall. The risk he’d now pose would outway any benefit. Plus the fool failed, Domeric had finally proven himself competent.

He raised his glass at her, “To the future Lord and Lady of Winterfell, Alaric Stark and Bethany Dustin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I have not yet edited it but didn't want to make you wait any longer than I already have.  
> I apologize and all I'll say is depression is a bitch. I promise the next chapter won't take twice as long. If my depression hits in the future and it takes me awhile to update, I will add an endnote to my most recent chapter to let you all know. I'd add a new chapter/authors note but I fucking HATE that. It's such a let down to think you're getting a new chapter and all you get is an apology and delay. So I promise I'll never ever do that. 
> 
> I'm really happy to be back and truly hope you enjoy.
> 
> Next up Winterfell, Cat and Ned speak and we arrive in King's Landing


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